


The Starbucks AU Nobody Asked For

by TastyBrownies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, I can't believe that's an actual tag, I wrote this thing ages ago oops, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Starbucks, There's a happy ending I promise!, chapter 11 is the most homophobic it gets, i don't remember half of it, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastyBrownies/pseuds/TastyBrownies
Summary: Dean Winchester is okay with his life. He has a job(s), his kid brother is doing great at school, and they even have a very decent place to live.He's not lonely, or in desperate need of a hobby, no matter what Sam, or Bobby, or Ellen think.He's fine. He didn't need to change anything.Well, at least he thought so, until he met Castiel.





	1. Wash, Rinse, Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops I planned on posting this back in like, December. Yep, it totally got away from me.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!  
> (I will update weekly) also i'm sorry if the formatting is terrible

Dean was having a bad morning.

Not necessarily a Bad Morning™ – those were the ones where he had to take a look at Sam to even remember why he wanted to get out of bed – but not exactly a fun one either. He worked the late shift at the local bar the previous night, and just so happened to get the early morning shift today. So early, in fact, there was almost no one around but him. Customers were usually scarce until about 10 am, which left Dean standing at the register, all alone, only sheer force of will stopping him from collapsing on the floor.

Which would explain why he wasn’t exactly concentrated – actually, scratch that – he wasn’t exactly _conscious_ enough to notice when a customer walked in.

“Hello, Dean.” Said a gravelly voice, and it was by some miracle that Dean managed to stop himself from cussing the customer’s ear off in surprise.

“G-good morning, sir.” He said, cleaning his throat, his brain only just catching up to the fact that the stranger called him by his name, which means he bothered to check the name tag, which _no one ever did_.

He almost shrugged visibly, but managed to internalize it at the last second. “What can I get you?” He asked.

The stranger looked around, confused, which allowed Dean a second to take in his appearance. Usually, Dean wouldn’t bother, but this man’s outfit was… intriguing, to say the least. He was wearing a suit, with a tragically tan trench coat over it.

Dean internally shrugged again. “Sir?” He asked again, because he didn’t get a response.

“A… Fra-“ He stopped, squinted, then continued: “Frappuccino.”

“Which one?” Dean asked, hand hovering above the register screen. Trench coat guy tilted his head at Dean, and stared at him like he was trying to figure out how his brain works.

“Coffee…” He said slowly, unsure. Dean barely stopped himself from sighing.

“Just the regular vanilla Frappuccino?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head back to 90 degrees and nodded, seeming satisfied.

“Right, what size?” Dean said once he put the order into the computer.

“Medium.”

“One Tall Vanilla Frappuccino coming right up. Anything else, sir?” Dean pulled out a plastic Tall glass with one hand, the other still hovering above the screen. The man shook his head. “Your name, sir?”

“Castiel.” He somehow managed to say his name gravely. Dean started writing the ‘C’, then stopped in his tracks.

“Wait, Castiel?”

“Yes, as in the angel Castiel.” Castiel said.

Dean blinked.

Castiel didn’t.

Dean decided to just get this guy’s order over with so he could continue to peacefully sleep while standing. Dean quickly told him the price, accepted his money (which was given precisely, to the penny) and printed the receipt, then set about making Castiel’s ( _Castiel._ Who even names their kid _Castiel?!_ ) Tall Vanilla Frappuccino.

He handed it over with the brightest smile he could manage (which, admittedly, was not very bright), and received a nod and a very serious “Thank you.” In return, as if he had just saved the guy’s kitten or something.

Castiel took his Frappuccino to go, and Dean finally allowed himself to sigh and go back to sleep-standing. Stand-sleeping? Whatever.

The fact was, Dean hated Starbucks.

In fact, he hated it with a _passion_. All those fancy names and flavors for a goddamn cup of coffee. Even if he _did_ like the java Frappuccino, he still thought it was pretentious and way over-priced.

So why did he work there, you ask?

Well, they needed employees, and he needed a job. Another one. Because apparently, being a bartender _and_ a mechanic still wasn’t enough to cover Sam’s college tuition along with taxes, food, and so on.

He sighed.

It wasn’t all bad, not really. It was just that some days were especially exhausting. Especially when you had to deal with all kinds of “one Grande Lemon Bar Crème Frappuccino Blended Crème with soy milk and no whipped cream and no caramel sugar topping” like the Sebastian standing in front of him.

“Alright Sebastian, anything else?”

“Yeah, do you have any organic low-fat pastries?”

Dean blinked at him. He was trying very hard not to clock him in the face.

“Let me check.” He said through gritted teeth instead.

They did not, in fact, have any organic pastries.

Sebastian seemed disappointed.

Dean still wanted to punch him. Luckily, Sebastian left before he managed to.

By the time his shift ended, Dean was so fed up with human interaction he was actually hurrying to get to the repair shop, despite being a hair’s width away from falling asleep. He threw a quick ‘hello’ Bobby’s way and hurried to change into his uniform.

Bobby was the place’s manager. Ever since Dean started working there, they’d developed this weird friendship, which eventually led to Bobby being almost like a father to Dean, and by extension, Sam, seeing as theirs left them pretty early in their life. They celebrated their birthdays together – the celebrations consisted of Bobby buying them all drinks at the local bar – and if Dean ever had any type of problem, he could always count on Bobby to tell him he was an “idjit”, then proceed to give him a very obvious solution he should have thought of himself.

“What’ve we got?” Dean asked Bobby, moving to the center of the garage. Strangely enough, being surrounded by cars always made him feel safer.

“Nothin’ special.” Bobby gestured around him as he rattled of the different reported issues with each car, and Dean got to work.

He had exactly enough time to take a shower before he needed to go to the bar for his night shift.

“Sammy? You home?” He called as soon as he opened the door, looking around the apartment for the familiar messenger bag.

“In the kitchen!” He heard, then quickly made his way there, removing all his outer layers while he went. “You want some dinner?” Sam asked, stirring something or other in a pot. Dean considered refusing – burgers are tastier and _cheaper_ – but if Sam was already making dinner…

“Sure, why not. I’m gonna hop in the shower, I got a night shift in…” He looked at his watch – a beat up old thing, really, but it worked – “Forty minutes. Shit.” He quickly made his way to the shower, hearing Sam yell something about “needing to talk” in the background.

He got back to the kitchen in a record time of fifteen minutes, shoveled down the dinner Sam made for them before Sam could even start talking, and took off to the bar.

He ran in through the back, hanging his coat somewhere there and hurrying to the bar, where Ellen was wiping some glasses.

“Hey Ellen.” He threw her way, then grabbed a towel and joined in the cleaning efforts.

“How’re you doin’, Dean?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Keepin’ busy.” He chuckled. Ellen probably knew he was exhausted – she always could read him like a magazine – but he didn’t want to talk about it, and she respected it.

If Bobby was like the Winchester’s father, Ellen was like their mother. She was the one who invited them to actual family dinners (even if they _did_ consist of mostly whiskey, but that was more Bobby and Dean’s fault than anyone else’s) and made sure they got a present on their birthday. She scolded them when they didn’t call her and hit them upside the head if they forget to tell her about something that happened to them.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Called a voice from behind Dean, and he smiled before he even saw her – Jo, Ellen’s daughter. Jo was like a sister to Sam and Dean. At one point, Dean tried to have a _thing_ with her, but that died almost as quickly as it surfaced.

“Well _someone_ has to serve the drinks right around here.” Dean joked, and got two towels to the head for his efforts, but it made them laugh, so it was worth it.

“Less talking, more wiping, kids.” Ellen chided with a smile as she got ready to open the bar.

Dean plastered on a smile and set his glass and towel down.

Sam was asleep by the time Dean got back. He sighed and checked his phone – yep, he had the morning shift in Starbucks _again._

Wash, rinse, repeat.


	2. Introducing Sam Winchester - AKA Annoying Overprotective Lil' Bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....oops.  
>  It's been too long since I updated this.  
> Sorry, I was caught up in stuff... ><  
> Hope you enjoy this!

Alarm. Brush teeth. Coffee – black, two sugars. Impala – Asia in the background. Starbucks.

Dean sighed.

At least he could sleep-stand for a whi-

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mother of-“ Dean nearly jumped a foot in the air. He put a hand to his heart like a friggin’ _TV character_ and panted. He had half a mind to say something along the lines of bells around necks and privacy, but instead he chose not to get possibly fired, and said: “Sorry, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I apologize if I startled you. I had no intention of doing so.” The gravelly voice continued. Dean finally looked at the owner of said voice- and immediately recognized him. Same tragically tan trench-coat, same crooked tie. He had a weird name, that much Dean remembered. Something about… angels, maybe?

“So, what’ll it be?” Dean got ready to type his order into the computer. The man squinted at him and tilted his head. “Sir?” Dean cleared his throat.

“I apologize. I… got lost in thought. I’ll have the Vanilla Frappuccino, please.”

“What size?”

“Tall.”

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Dean nodded and named the price. The man paid the price in exact change _again_ , which might’ve creeped Dean out a bit more if he weren’t so tired.

“Remind me what’s your name?” Dean asked, holding a sharpie in one hand and a Starbucks cup in another.

“Castiel.”

“Right, right, Castiel – like the angel.”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. He somehow managed to turn the simple gesture into something not unlike deciding someone’s fate. Dean almost gulped.

“O-kay, one Tall Vanilla Frappuccino coming right up.” Dean set about making the drink, trying his best not to fall asleep.

“Thank you.” Castiel nodded gravely again, and left.

“What a character.” Dean whistled to himself, then got back to his sweet one hour standing nap before customers started piling in.

His shift at the repair shop started and ended and still nothing interesting happened, aside from Ellen coming to _“visit”_ , which earned Bobby some eyebrow wiggles from Dean, and earned Dean a wrench thrown at his head.

As usual, Dean barely had a minute to catch his breath between getting home and going out to his shift at Ellen’s, so he shot Sam a quick wave, took an even quicker shower, reminded Sam not to stay up too late since it was a school night and headed out.

The bar was packed. He barely managed to wipe glasses between making and refilling drinks. At one point, he got a flirty smile thrown his way from an astonishingly attractive girl (long black hair, warm brown eyes and even warmer skin tone, pearly-white smile framed by full lips) , but he couldn’t do anything about it – he was much too tired, and he had a morning shift _again_ the following morning – so he only winked and smiled back.

Sam was still awake when Dean came home. He was watching TV, and as soon as he saw Dean his face caught the long-perfected Sam Winchester Bitchface™, which could only mean that a Sam Winchester Talk™ was about to follow.

Naturally, Dean waved and ran into the kitchen.

Sam was not pleased, as he made sure to clarify by way of Intense Bitchfacing, but Dean was _really_ not in the mood. He stuffed a whole sandwich in his mouth and turned to Sam, wearing an innocent expression.

“Dean, we need to talk.” There it was. Dean gulped slightly, but nodded, as if to say “go on”. “I know that you feel like you have to take care of me-“

“Oh come on, Sam, not this again!”

“Let me finish! I _know_ that, and all I’m asking of you is to consider the fact that you have to let someone take care of _you_ , too, because the way you are right now? It’s not healthy.”

“Listen, Sam, I’m tired, and I’ve got a morning shift tomorrow, so how about we just drop it, huh?”

“But Dean, this is exactly what I’m talking-“

“I said drop it, Sammy!” Dean snapped, and stormed into his room.

The next morning Dean made sure to leave as early as possible so he wouldn’t run into Sam. He loved his brother, but if he tried talking Dean out of working _one more time_ , he was going to blow his own brains out.

And so it happened he arrived at Starbucks earlier than ever before, early enough that he saw the employee that usually opens the place up. She was redheaded, and always had some kind of geeky shirt – Dean vaguely remembered her introducing herself as Charlie and calling everyone “bitches”.

“You’re here early.” She threw his way, tying the apron around her waist.

“Yeah.” He replied curtly, mirroring her actions.

“Are you always this grumpy or are you just in a really bad mood today?” She asked, sounding both genuinely curious and snarky. Dean snorted.

“Bit of both, I guess.” He sighed, and went to stand at the register. He helped Charlie stock the display stand with pastries.

“So, how long have you been working here, anyway?” She asked. Dean considered his answer, trying to think back to the last time he slept in.

“About two months now.” He eyed the pastries curiously. Charlie ‘hmm’d.

“I’ve been here for about three years now. It’s a nice enough place.” She shrugged. So did Dean. Half an hour later, they were done flipping chairs and stocking coffee machines, and Dean walked over to the front to unlock the front door. He walked back to the register, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned, facing the front of the store-

“Hello, Dean.”

“Jesus Christ!” He jumped, his heart beating in his throat.

“Dean?” Charlie asked from the back of the shop.

“I’m good! I’m fine, it’s nothing.” He called over his shoulder, then faced Castiel, who was doing his weird head-tilt thing again. “Seriously, man, _how_ do you do that?”

“Do… what?” Castiel squinted.

“You manage to walk into the store without making a damn _sound_. And you do this _every time_ , too.”

“I… don’t know how to respond to that.” He looked apologetic, his head tilting back upright. Dean chuckled, Castiel’s response taking him by surprise.

“It’s cool, don’t worry.”

“I fail to see how the temperature of the room pertains to our conversation.” He said solemnly. Dean just stared at him for a second, then chuckled awkwardly.

“Right. So, Vanilla Frappuccino again?” He wiped his palms - which were suddenly sweaty for some reason - on his jeans, and pulled out a Tall cup. Castiel looked surprised. He probably wondered why the hell Dean even remembered his order. Dean wouldn’t have been able to give him an answer had he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” He said slowly.

Dean read the price aloud, and, once again, received the perfect sum.

Of course, his peace couldn’t last, as not a second later – before Dean even managed to make the poor guy’s Frappuccino – Sam absolutely stormed in, 6’2’’ of pure bitchface almost slamming the door open (he was probably worried about damaging the shop, the gentle soul) and glaring at Dean. Dean gulped. The words ‘Uh oh’ echoed faintly in his head.

“Heya, Sam.” He offered weakly.

“Don’t you ‘heya Sam’ me! I-“

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at school right now? What are you doing here?”

“Dean.” Sam glared daggers at him. “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh.” Dean responded dumbly, plastic cup still in hand.

“Yeah, ‘oh’. This is exactly what I was talking about! You work yourself almost half to death-“

“Okay, Sammy, first of all, you’re exaggerating-“

“I can’t even remember the last time you went out, or did something for yourself, or-“

“C’mon, seriously? You’re gonna do this right now? In the middle of goddamn Starbucks?!”

“You won’t listen to me! Doesn’t matter how many times I try to tell you, you just-“

“Because you don’t get it, Sam, okay?!” He burst, panting. Sam was silent as he took a few steadying breaths. “You don’t get it. Now can you please let me make this guy’s goddamn coffee in goddamn peace?” his voice was shaking with restraint.

“No. Because you’re gonna quit.” Sam straightened, folding his arms over his chest. Dean scoffed.

“No, I’m not. Stop being dumb.” He spun around, deciding to get going on the coffee even if he didn’t get his peace.

“I’m serious, Dean. You need a break. You don’t wanna quit this job? Fine. Then quit Ellen’s.”

“You know I can’t do that.” He muttered.

“Fine, then take less shifts. You can’t keep-“

“I can keep doing whatever the hell I goddamn please, Sam-“

“No, you can’t, because you’ll burn yourself out, and then how do you think I’ll feel?” Sam stopped, heaving breaths. Dean froze with the cannister of whipped cream in his hand.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so quick to sacrifice all your time and efforts on me, but what happens when you’ve worked yourself to the bone? When you’re finally so tired that you, I don’t know, have an accident? Or something else happens? What then?”

“Sam, you’re not making any sense.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to stop altogether. I’m just asking you to let me help a little.”

“Yeah, no, not happening.” Dean gave a humorless chuckle, trying to end the discussion. Sam scoffed and shifted his weight, tilting towards the door.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He turned to leave.

“I will!” Dean called after him as the door closed. Dean realized he was still holding the whipped cream cannister in one hand. He shook his head, finished the beverage and handed it over with an apologetic smile. “Sorry you had to hear all that. Siblings, you know?”

“Not really. My fights with my siblings tend to get a tad bit more aggressive.” Castiel said gravely, and Dean’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. Somehow, even from the short impression he got of the guy, he just could _not_ imagine him being aggressive.

“Well, that’s family for ya.” He supplied lamely. Castiel looked at him, tilting his head.

“Yes. Thank you, Dean.” He said, bowing his head ( _weird_ ). Dean saluted lazily, feeling his face heat up for some unknown reason.

“Uh… everything okay in here? I heard shouting.” Charlie peeked from the storage room. Dean startled, turning to look at her.

“Oh, no, yeah, everything’s fine. Peachy. Nothin’ to worry about.” He said, busying himself with reorganizing the plastic cups. Which did not need reorganizing.

“…Right. Okay then.” She shrugged and went back to stocking.


	3. November 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 2nd was always the hardest day of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit longer than the rest... also I'm terrible with my upload schedule so sorry for anyone who's waiting for updates ><

“What’s that I hear about you workin’ yourself to death, boy?” Bobby asked him the second he stepped into the garage. Dean groaned.

“Oh come _on_ , not you too, Bobby!”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault your giant of a brother came stormin’ in here demanding I do somethin’ about ya.” He chuckled slightly, then turned serious. “Seriously though. Is he right to worry?”

“No, he’s not. I like keeping busy, okay?” He emphasized his point by picking up his uniform and starting to head to the changing rooms. “Besides, it’s not like we have much of a choice.”

“Don’t you say that, boy. There’s always a choice.” Bobby stops him with a hard glare.

“Yeah, well, I made mine.” Dean said with an air of finality, and left to start working.

***

As soon as Dean stepped into the bar, Ellen just gave him this _look_.

“Not you too, Ellen.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But if you receive a complimentary shift or two off, don’t come shouting my ear off about it.”

“Really? All it takes is Sam to work those puppy eyes on you and you crack, seriously?” He sighed. “I thought you were stronger than that, Ellen,” He teased with a smirk, and got a rag thrown at his face in response.

“Get your ass behind the bar, Winchester.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaped over the counter and tied an apron around his waist.

***

“Sammy?” Dean called once he’d locked the door behind him. He heard a grumble from the living room, so he hung his coat and walked in to see Sam sprawled on the couch, hands folded in his lap. “What’s up?” He tried for casual, and missed it by about ten miles.

“Nothin’.” Sam said in that you’re-an-idiot-and-I’m-pissed-at-you-but-you-don’t-know-what-you-did-so-I’m-waiting-for-you-to-figure-it-out-on-your-own voice that siblings often have. Dean sighed.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this right now, and you know I hate talking about this shit, so I’m gonna give you three seconds to spill.” He waited by the kitchen. “Okay, you don’t wanna talk about it, don’t say I didn’t-“

“November 2nd is coming up.” Sam said quietly, so quietly Dean almost didn’t hear him. Dean blinked. He swallowed, hard. The imaginary “List of Reasons to Hate Myself” in Dean’s head just got another entry.

“Shit.” He said for lack of anything else.

“Yeah.” Sam said, just as helpless.

“When?”

“Monday.”

“Monday.” Dean took a deep breath. “Okay, we can do Monday. I’ll write a letter to your school or whatever so we can go in the morning, and I’ll cancel my Starbucks shift…” He muttered, making a mental to-do list.

“Dean.” Sam said in an attempt to get his attention. Dean looked at him. Sam was silent for a while, searching his eyes, and then sighed. “I know you hate it when I say that, but you know I never even met Mom, so doing this… It’s more out of respect than anything else.”

“Don’t say that.” Dean scoffed.

“But it’s true. Dean, you _knew_ her. You _loved_ her. I think… I think you deserve- no, you know what? I think you _owe_ it to yourself to take a day off and mourn properly. Especially after-“

“Don’t say it.”

“Dean-“

“Just- just don’t, okay? Please.” Dean rubbed a tired hand over his face. “It’s been eighteen years, alright? I think I can handle paying my respects and be a functioning member of society at the same time.” His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears. Sam visibly tensed.

“Look, man, I’m just trying to help. You don’t want my help with paying the bills, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you ruin your life just because I wanna go to college.” He said, trying to keep his voice level. Dean let out a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have much of a choice. Besides, I know what I’m doing. I love working. Keeps me d-busy.” He knew Sam would notice the slip-up, but he also knew they were both too tired and too weighed down by the anniversary looming over their heads to continue this argument. Instead, Dean grabbed a beer and sat down next to Sam, joining him in watching reruns of Star Trek.

Dean never really knew what to do on Sundays. Especially now, with the anniversary coming up. Sam walked on eggshells around him, which was somehow even worse than his usual constant pestering about Dean not taking care of himself. Church was out of the question – Dean wasn’t really the “praying type”, and he didn’t really believe in the man upstairs anyway. So, he spent most of the day laying around on the living room couch watching reruns of Dr. Sexy M.D. and drinking beer. Sam didn’t initiate any conversation, so Dean didn’t either. He went to bed early, tossing and turning until the sun started coming up. He was used to four hours – that way he never slept deeply enough to dream.

Waking up on Monday felt worse than a punch to the gut.

“Dean?” Sam pushed the door slightly open.

“Yeah.” He grunted, and rolled out of bed. A cup of coffee was waiting on the kitchen table, and Dean added some Jack into it when Sam wasn’t around. He wore the most respectable clothes he owned, and headed out with Sam. He stopped next to the Impala, fumbling with the keys for a minute. Sam drummed his fingers on the hood, gathering his thoughts.

“Dean, I-“

“Sam, let’s not.” He said, finally finding the key, and got into the car, immediately popping the first cassette he got his hands on into the player. Thankfully, Sam kept quiet throughout the drive to the cemetery.

About half an hour later found them walking between gravestones, making their way to the one they knew so well, even after eighteen years. Dean kept his eyes trained on the dirt path, knowing he wasn’t even _nearly_ drunk enough to handle looking at all the headstones they passed.

Suddenly Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and a tense:

“Dean.”

Dean stopped.

Sam sounded anxious, _scared_ even.

Dean slowly looked up. There was someone in front of their mother’s headstone.

“Is that-“ Sam started. Dean’s hands started involuntarily shaking. His heart sped up, his breathing erratic as his chest constricted. He clenched his fists, taking a deep breath.

“Yes.” He said, and they both chose to ignore how his voice shook.

“We could-“

“I’m _fine_ , Sam. It’s not a big deal.” He tried to steady his breathing, gather his thoughts, which were running amok in his head like a herd of deer running away from a lion.

“Dean, _stop_.” Sam grabbed his shoulder, which was probably meant to be comforting, but did nothing to ease the pressure building in Dean’s lungs and stomach, threatening to burst at any second. Sam seemed to realize this, because he let go abruptly. Or maybe Dean shook him off. It was hard to tell – everything was hazy and confusing. Suddenly there were hands on his face, and Sam’s eyes were really close-

“Dean, breathe with me, okay? Just breathe.” He put Dean’s hand on his chest, letting him feel every intake and release of breath. Dean wanted to shake him off, to tell him he was fine, that he wasn’t an idiot who needed an instruction manual to breathe, but maybe he was, because after a while he noticed that he was actually breathing easier.

“We’ll just wait until he leaves.” Sam said, his tone final. Dean could only nod weakly, staggering behind Sam as he led them to a bench nearby.  He hated this feeling, this – being so weak, _years_ later. And it _had_ been years since they last saw him. _Years_ since Dean told Sam to pack up his things, because they were never coming back. _Years_ since Dean finally realized that _John H. Winchester_ was as far from being a father figure as the Earth was from Neptune.

And there it was again – shortness of breath, just thinking his _name_ , his _goddamn stupid name_ -

“Dean, breathe. Breathe.” Sam instructed again, somehow managing to give Dean his much-needed space while hovering and making sure he wasn’t hyperventilating.

After what seemed like forever, Dean regained control of his lungs.

“Okay, I’m good. Let’s go.” He said, tense, getting to his feet.

“He’s still there.” Sam muttered quietly.

“I don’t care. I can go visit mom’s grave if I want to, and he has no right to-“ He stopped mid-sentence, not sure how to continue. _No right to stop Dean from doing so? No right to show up at his wife’s grave after what he’d done to her children?_

“Let’s just go.” He ended up saying. Sam nodded, although he didn’t look sure at all, staying barely two steps behind Dean in case his body decided to shut down again.

Dean’s shoulders climbed up with each step he took toward the headstone, until finally he stood in front of it, less than a foot away from John. He could feel John looked at him, but he didn’t return the favor.

“Sam. Dean.” He said in lieu of a greeting.

“John.” Dean replied, coldly. John seemed to take a breath.

“I just want you to know-“

“Save it. I came here to honor mom, not to take a stroll down memory lane.” The brothers tensed, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

“I found him.” John said, quietly. Dean was so surprised he actually looked at him. It… that was _impossible_. There was _no way,_ after all this time, everything they’d been through, no chance in _hell…_

But John looked Dean in the eye and he could tell it was the truth. No glaze of alcohol over his eyes, no manipulative glint. Dean suddenly got dizzy, and he quickly looked away, taking a deep breath.

“I think we should go.” Sam said tersely, avoiding coming too near their supposed father. Dean started nodding minutely, trying to shake himself out of the trance that told him to follow his dad, to get revenge-

“Dean, I haven’t changed my number.”

“Well, we have.” Sam said, a tad bit aggressively, and tugged on Dean’s sleeve. “We really should be going.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we…” Dean started, but never finished, simply kissing his fingers and pressing them to the gravestone, then walking away, mind racing a hundred miles per hour. He mechanically opened the driver’s seat door, mechanically sat down and started the engine. But he had no idea where he was supposed to drive to.

“Dean?” Sam asked, gently, and Dean hated himself more and more with every second for making his baby brother worried so much, but he couldn’t make his brain cooperate, his hands felt like lead weights…

“I’m feeling kinda tired, Sammy. Maybe you should drive.” He said, slowly getting out of the car. Sam nodded, and they switched places. Dean didn’t even notice when they got back home, he was so lost in thought. Sam kept shooting him worried glances, and he tried his best to shrug them off, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk, or even muster up the energy to change his facial expression. This definitely had all the makings of a Bad Day. He already knew where he was going to spend the night, but he didn’t want to worry Sam. Not more than he already did, in any case. He glanced at his phone – he had at least three more hours till his shift at Bobby’s. He couldn’t cancel – he didn’t want to. He had to keep himself busy, do _something_ , or else he’ll go crazy. He paced around a little, trying to decide what to do. Maybe after fixing Sam with a proper lunch he can go start an early shift. He would just drive over there – there’s no way Bobby will refuse, he always needed more manpower. And after that he could go to Ellen’s, work a little, convince her he was fine for closing up that night, then strategically drink as much as he could without it being too obvious the next morning.

He stepped into the kitchen, rummaged through the fridge and cupboards until he found everything he wanted for a proper lunch for Sam – some patties, baked potatoes, a salad – and started cooking.

“Okay. Talk to me.” Sam stood behind him and crossed his arms, using his no-nonsense voice. It still pissed Dean off sometimes, that his little brother was taller than him.

“Alright, what do you wanna talk about?”

“Dean.” This was the long-suffering stop-being-an-idiot-Dean voice. Dean sighed.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam. Yeah, he’s back in town, yeah, I got a little shaky, but I’m _fine_.” That was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly through puffed cheeks.

“Fine, if you won’t talk to me, then talk to _someone._ Ellen. Jo. Bobby. I don’t care. Just talk to _somebody._ _Please._ You can’t keep it all in all the time. And I know you don’t want to tell me because of some kind of stupid big brother complex-“ Dean scoffed – “But that doesn’t mean you need to keep it in. So, please, Dean. Talk to someone.” He said, then walked away, probably to busy himself with homework or something similar. Dean took a deep breath, trying to clear the haze in his brain from this shit-show of a day. He finished up Sam’s lunch with way too much time to spare, so with a quick “I’m going to Bobby’s, there’s lunch in the kitchen” thrown in Sam’s general direction he headed out, doing his best to focus on the road and not let his mind wander.

Bobby greeted him with a brief hug – so brief that Dean didn’t even have time to protest – and a rag thrown at his head. Dean changed and got to work.

“So, how’s Sammy doin’?” Bobby asked, too casually, but the last thing Dean wanted was to be rude to the only proper father figure he ever had, _especially_ after what happened that morning.

“He’s holdin’ up nicely. Still thinks I gotta cry it out with someone.” He chuckled, somewhat humorlessly.

“I don’t know, maybe he’s got a point.” Bobby said, only slightly joking. Dean huffed a short laugh anyway. “But seriously. How’re you holding up, boy?” Bobby put down whatever it was he was doing and turned to look at Dean.

“M’fine. Same as always.”

“It don’t look same as always. You’ve been cleaning the same valve since you walked in.” He said, aiming for gentle. Dean stopped, realizing Bobby had a point. He shrugged and moved on from said valve.

“Just want to be thorough.”

“Right.”

He waited for Dean to say something. When he didn’t, Bobby sighed.

“Boy, I don’t know _who_ you think you’re protectin’ by keepin’ all this to yourself, but it ain’t me and it sure as hell ain’t Sammy. I’m not gonna keep you from working your ass off, ‘cause it’s better than getting blackout drunk like I know you wanna do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be worried about you.”

“You got a point somewhere there, Bobby?” Dean snapped, and immediately regretted it, but he said nothing more. Bobby stared at him for a few moments before replying.

“My point is, you should listen to your brother sometimes. He might be younger, but sometimes I think he might be a helluva lot smarter.”

Dean refrained from muttering: ’You think I don’t know that?’ and kept working on the stupid car.

Thankfully, working in the garage kept his mind off other things, and so he found himself at eight o’clock, racing to his Impala to make it in time for his shift at Ellen’s. he waved a quick goodbye to Bobby and was soon on his way.

Of course, his blissful six hours of mind-numbing work wouldn’t last forever.

As soon as he parked his car, he was attacked by Jo, shoving him back against the Impala.

“Hey, Dean.” She tried to smile but he could feel the tension rolling off her in waves.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Just, I thought maybe we could go out tonight.”

“I… have a shift tonight.”

“Yeah, like you do every night, so I thought maybe today you could take a shift off. Actually, mom insisted.” She blurted. Dean’s suspicions rose even higher.

“Ellen insisted I take the night off.”

“Yup.”

He stayed silent for a moment.

“If this is some kind of stupid plan to keep me from getting near the bar because of the an-“

“No! Of course not. I just thought you could use a distraction from all that stuff.”

“Yeah, and the distraction I’m choosing is _getting to my shift_.” He pushed past her.

“Dean, no, wait-!” She made a grab at his coat but he already pushed his way inside, walked to the bar and jumped over it, tying an apron around his waist and turning around to start serving-

Oh.

Well, shit.

No wonder Jo tried to keep him out of the bar.

Dean swallowed thickly.

John was sitting right in front of him, putting his whiskey glass down and glancing up to look at Dean.

“Dean.” He said, surprised. Dean swallowed again, for strength.

“John.” He greeted, then immediately turned around.

“Oh, come on, can’t I even talk to you?”

Dean didn’t grace that with an answer. Instead, he started cleaning the glasses and shaker. John sighed.

“Son-“

“ _Don’t-“_ he slammed the shaker down with barely contained rage, hating how his voice wobbled when he said – “ _Don’t call me that._ ”

“Dean, I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I was doing the best I could. When your mother died, I didn’t know what to do.” He geared up for his regular speech. Dean’s hands started shaking again. He knew what was coming, he could recite John’s words by heart – how he wasn’t equipped to deal with his wife’s _murder_ , how it wasn’t easy turning from a husband and father to a single father, and how Dean wasn’t exactly easy to deal with, much less Sammy –   
His vision was starting to blur, his heart pounding in his ears-

“Everything okay here, gentlemen?” Ellen came to stand between them, even though Dean’s back was turned. Dean could barely bring himself to speak.

“Yes, ma’am.” John said, putting a bill down on the counter. “I was just leaving.”

Ellen nodded, her eyes following John to the door. When it finally closed behind him, she turned to put a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, whose breath started returning.

“You okay?” She rubbed soothing circles on his back- _~~the same back that slammed into the wall when “dad” wanted to hold little Sammy and Dean was in the way, scared, because “dad” smelled of something that stung Dean’s nose~~_ –

“Fine,” He choked out, trying to get his breathing under control. Two panic attacks in one day- had to be a record for him.

“Breathe, Dean, in and out.” She said softly, and Dean focused on her voice, even though he hated feeling this, hated being seen like this, because it was better than breaking down and losing his consciousness and being sent to some middle-aged man who’d ask him to spill out his whole life story like some teenage girl who thinks she’s having her midlife crisis at sixteen.

Ellen didn’t let him close up that night, but she _did_ turn a blind eye when he downed a couple of shots in between cleaning and bartending.

Sam didn’t confront him when he returned home, for which he was grateful. He knew he would feel better after a shower, but he could barely bring himself to crawl out of his clothes, much less step under the heavy spray of hot water. So he went to sleep as he was, absolutely drained, and knowing full well he wasn’t going to sleep well that night.


	4. New Routines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly keep forgetting to upload new chapters I'm so sorry I'm terrible at this  
> I think I might just publish the rest all at once next time

_“You can’t have a normal life, Dean, not anymore, not after what happened to your mother-_

_Why are you being so difficult-?!_

_What did you do to him?! Why is he crying-?!_

_What did I tell you? Don’t let Sammy out of your sight! Can’t you just follow my orders? Can’t you do the simplest of things-?!_

_College applications? Sam, don’t be ridiculous, we can’t afford that. Besides, where would Dean even apply? He’s practically a dropout, with the grades he’s getting-“_

Dean woke up drenched in cold sweat, panting.

Guess he had to take that shower now.

He tried to remember how to breathe when he stumbled out of bed, noticing something sticky on his face, his throat sore and dry. A quiet knock on his door brought him out of his momentary daze.

“I’m up.” He rasped, then quickly got himself together and grabbed his clothes.

Shower, brush teeth, get dressed, make cof-

A cup of coffee was already waiting on the counter for him. Dean tried to appreciate the gesture, but it broke his routine, and if he didn’t make his coffee in the morning then next thing he knows he’ll forget to put gas in his tank or god knows what else because routine was the only thing keeping him sane and-

He forced himself to take a deep breath.

He was _fine_. It’s _just a cup of goddamn coffee_.

He picked it up and drank it, almost defiantly.

Then he got into his car and drove to Starbucks.

He met Charlie again, who gave him a sympathetic smile but was observant enough to realize he didn’t really take kindly to those kinds of gestures, and proceeded to act all business as usual, telling him to put that muffin on that display case and that cup on that other rack. Soon enough the store opened, and before Dean could wonder where his usual 8 a.m. costumer was, he turned around to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring right at him, as if analyzing his soul.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Castiel, my favorite morning costumer.” Dean smiled. Surprisingly, it was a genuine smile – perhaps not an entirely happy one, but Castiel was becoming a part of his routine, and his appearance more than made up for the coffee that morning. There was something about his odd behavior that bemused Dean, and bemused was a much better feeling than frustrated, so he was going to take what he could get.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, looking… was that _concern?_

Dean’s smile faltered a little.

“Yeah, everything’s great.”

“You look upset.”

“I’m fine, man, just a little tired.”

Castiel didn’t seem to believe him, but he nodded slightly.

“It’s just… you weren’t here yesterday morning.” He kept staring at Dean’s eyes, and Dean found he couldn’t look away. He chuckled awkwardly.

“Sheesh, man, a guy takes a shift off once in a blue moon and you get all worried.” He smiled, forcing himself to feel casual.

“Dean.” Castiel suddenly looked very concerned. “The moon is never blue.”

Dean let out a surprised laugh- _an actual, honest to god laugh. This guy either has the best sense of humor in the world or he’s some goddamn magician, because Dean was pretty sure his morning was crap until Castiel said this._

“It’s an expression, Cas.”

Castiel tilted his head.

Dean struggled not to burst out laughing again.

“I see.”

“So, the usual? Or do you maybe wanna try something a little different?” Dean asked, hand poised over the plastic cups. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“Surprise me.” He said slowly, and Dean could feel the weight of quote marks around his words. It was funny, in a way- it’s like the guy didn’t understand modern speech at all. Dean thought for a minute, running through the list of different beverages, until finally settling on a Cinnamon Roll Frappuccino. Castiel seemed like the type of guy who would enjoy that.

He read the price aloud, and Castiel paid once again with the exact amount of money, and somehow, when the door closed behind him, Dean was left feeling better than he did for the entire past three days.

***

“What’s got you all smiling?” Bobby asked as soon as Dean walked in. Dean huffed a laugh.

“It’s nothing. Just a really weird costumer this morning.”

“Creepy weird or what?”

“No, just kinda… quirky. It’s nothin’.”

“Well, if you say so.” Bobby shrugged and got back to work. He didn’t mention anything about the last night – either Ellen didn’t fill him in (which was unlikely), or he chose to keep his mouth shut about it. Either way, Dean appreciated it. He managed to finish work early, so he took his time driving home, looking around at the city like he so rarely got to do.

Sam was already waiting for him with lunch heated up back home, carefully asking about the day’s events and nothing more. They ate in companionable silence until Dean had to change for his night shift.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam caught him before he headed out.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering… could I join you at Starbucks on Saturday mornings?”

“Uh… sure, but why would you wanna do that?”

“It seems like a pretty good place to study – there’s an endless supply of coffee.” He smirked. “Besides, it’s better than being home alone, so.” He shrugged. Dean considered this for a minute.

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

And he headed out.

The night passed without incident, except for one patron who looked eerily similar to John – Dean promptly ignored him and got Jo to serve him with some bullshit excuse about having his hands full. Ellen and Jo both refrained from mentioning the previous night, just like Bobby, for which he was extremely grateful.

To his surprise, Dean found that he came home that night in a pretty good mood. He wasn’t necessarily _happy_ – he was tired and sore from a full day of work, just like every day – but he didn’t have any of the usual storm clouds that appeared in his head around this time of year. At least, not for now – and he was going to take advantage of that as long as he had it. He took a long shower and got into bed, his eyes slowly drifting closed with exhaustion.

 

His relatively good mood didn’t last. It wasn’t destined to last.

He slept dreamlessly, but woke up bleary eyed and weighed down. It took all his mental efforts to even open his eyes.

Sam knocked on his door again. This wasn’t part of the usual routine, but apparently Sam wanted it to become one, so he grunted to let him know he was awake. Sam opened the door and stepped in, in all his typical high-school outfit glory. Somehow, just seeing Sam getting ready for school already made Dean feel a little better.

“Dean? Do you have a shift today?”

Dean ‘mhmm’d.

“Okay, well, I made you coffee. Like yesterday. It’s on the kitchen table.”

Dean ‘mhmm’d again.

“You should probably sit up.” Sam said gently. _Stupid Sam with his stupid sixth sense – he always knew when Dean wasn’t feeling normal._

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

“I know. I just think you should get up so you won’t be late.”

Dean sighed in frustration. He hated it when Sam thought he had to be “extra gentle” with him. Yeah, he was feeling kinda shitty today, but that shouldn’t make Sam more tolerant to his shit! On any other day, Sam would’ve rolled his eyes and said, “stop bullshitting me, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, mentally counting down from three, then violently swinging his legs out from under his blanket before he could regret it. Sam nodded, pleased, then left the room. It took Dean another five minutes of rubbing his eyes and staring at the floor, trying to stop his mind from thinking, until he finally got to his feet.

He went through the motions, the streets blurring in his peripheral vision, and before he knew it he was standing at the register, waiting for costumers. And once again, without fail, there he was – Castiel, in all his trench coat glory.

“Hello, Dean.” This time, Dean was so out of it that his brain delayed in registering the sound, and when he did, it took so long he didn’t even twitch in surprise.

“Oh, hey Cas.” He didn’t remember when he decided to give him a nickname, but he was too tired to argue with himself. “What’ll it be today?”

“I enjoyed yesterday’s pick very much. I would like for you to choose again, if you wouldn’t mind. I trust your judgement.” He said, and the deadpan way he spoke along with his deep voice made it sound like he was putting his life in Dean’s hand. Dean felt his mouth twitch.

He scanned the menu once again, trying to focus. Somehow, he felt it was important not to let Cas down. He didn’t know exactly what he looked for, but he knew it wouldn’t be something he would pick for _himself_ , for sure. Something sweet and aromatic… like…

“How about a Toasted Coconut Cold Brew?” He turned to Cas, who tilted his head again, considering, then nodded. Dean quickly took his money and made his beverage, expecting him to leave as he usually did. Instead, Cas took a look at his phone, frowned, then slid it back into his trench coat.

“I just realized I have half an hour before I’m due at work.” He looked at his drink, concentrating.

“Well, I mean, you could sit here. It’s a nice enough place.” Dean shrugged. Cas looked up at him like he just had the greatest idea of the century. He glanced around, looking for something, until finally he settled on a bar stool an arm’s length from Dean. He sat down there, then looked at Dean with what looked like an infinitesimal smile. For some reason, Dean felt obliged to smile back. Dean didn’t know how long they stared at each other before Charlie joined them at the bar and cleared her throat. Dean quickly shook himself out of it and got back to doing… something or other. Charlie saved him by telling him he needed to stock the display with some of the muffins from the back.

When he was done, Charlie mysteriously disappeared, and Cas was still there. No other costumers were in sight, so Dean allowed himself to slump on the counter.

“So, where do you work anyway?” He asked Cas, genuinely curious as to what job allowed him to pass through every morning in the overpriced _Starbucks_ of all places.

“I teach Latin at the high school just around the block.” He still stared at Dean for some reason.

“Shaping the minds of the next generation, eh Cas?”

“I doubt my teachings are that influential, but I try my best to interest my students.”

Dean meant it in a teasing way, of course, but with an answer like that he didn’t have the heart to tell Cas he was joking.

“I’m sure your classes are fascinating.” He said for some reason. It’s not like he knew anything about Latin – what he knew came from Sam’s weird books. Actually, now that he thought of it, Sam studied in the very same high school. “Wait, so you teach in the same school Sammy goes to!”

“Sammy? Your brother?”

Dean immediately smiled, feeling the conversation shift to his brother.

“Yeah, Sammy’s my little brother. He’s such a nerd, I swear. He actually studies Latin, too.”

“He does? Who is his teacher?”

“Oh wow, I don’t remember. I think, some red headed lady?”

“You must mean Naomi.”

“Yeah, that’s her. From what Sam tells me, she’s a real piece of work.”

“That would be a mild way of putting it.” Cas scowled. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle slightly - Cas just looked like an angry little kitten. “She tends to think her way of teaching is superior to any and all other methods. It really…” Cas trailed off.

“Grinds your gears?” Dean suggested. Cas squinted at him. “It’s… another expression.”

“Oh. In that case, yes, it… grinds my gears.” He said carefully, testing it out.

Dean snorted, unable to keep his amusement in. Cas looked at him, giving him that infinitesimal smile once again, then looked at his phone, his eyes widening.

“I have to go.” He said shortly, and turned to go. “Dean…” He looked uncertain for a second, then said: “Thank you.” And left.

And, once again, he somehow managed to lift Dean’s spirits in half an hour.

Bobby, Ellen and Jo were careful not to mention anything about John, and so his day passed by smoothly, and soon he found himself in front of the TV with a dopey smile on his face, Sam doing his homework in the kitchen.

“Ugh, this goddamn-“ Sam muttered. Soon after, Dean heard a loud THONK.

“Everything okay back there?” Dean turned to see Sam’s forehead pressed against the table.

“I don’t understand any of this!” His voice was muffled by the table.

“Watcha got there?”

“Latin.” He grumbled. Suddenly, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, Dean had an idea.

“Hey, you remember that guy that was in Starbucks on Saturday? When you burst in to yell at me?”

Sam blushed, probably embarrassed of his actions in retrospect.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Well, turns out he teaches at your school. And guess what he teaches.”

“Uh…”

“Latin.”

“Oh. That’s… great? I guess?” Sam scrunched up his nose. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Listen, he’s been a regular for like a week now and he seems to trust my judgement about coffee so I could ask him if he could tutor you or something.”

“Can we even afford that?”

“I’ll sort that out.”

“Dean-“ Sam started with a warning tone.

“Sammy, we’ve been over this. I’ll find a way to make it work. That doesn’t necessarily mean more shifts.”

Sam looked at him for another moment, then sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos absolutely make my day and are greatly appreciated :3


	5. Not At All a First Date, Dean Has No Idea What You're Talking About

Dean greeted Charlie with a wave and a smile when he walked into the back of the store, and she replied by throwing up her hand and loudly proclaiming: “’Sup, bitch?”

Dean chuckled and got to work stocking the display fridge. Soon enough, Cas walked into the store, for once not completely giving Dean a heart attack.

“Mornin’ Cas!” Dean called as the bells over the door jingled.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas gave him one of his small smiles.

“What’s it gonna be?”

Cas seemed to contemplate this for a moment.

“Want me to choose?” Dean asked after a short minute.

“Yes, I would like that very much.” Cas replied, nodding. Dean turned to the menu to survey it again, all the while mentally psyching himself up to ask Cas about tutoring Sam.

“How ‘bout a… Nitro Cold Brew with Sweet Cream?” He turned to Cas with a smile.

“Sounds good.”

Dean read the price, took Cas’ money and turned to make the beverage.

“So, Cas…” He trailed off, nervous.

“Yes?” Cas supplied.

“Um, remember how I told you about my brother?”

“Sammy, yes.” Cas nodded immediately. Dean stopped short, surprised Cas actually took notice of his ramblings.

“Well, uh, he studies Latin-“

“With Naomi, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, and he’s kind of having a hard time with it, y’know? And I obviously can’t help, I’ve never studied a day of Latin in my life, so, I thought, maybe, if it’s not too much trouble-“

“I would love to help him.” He said, and Dean sighed with relief at not having to complete that disaster of a sentence.

“Great! Cool, okay, that’s awesome. How much per hour?” He asked, pouring the drink into a plastic cup. Cas didn’t answer. When Dean turned back, he saw Cas was doing that head-tilt again.

“What do you mean?”

Dean blinked.

“I mean, how much do I, y’know, have to pay for an hour of tutoring?”

Cas kept staring at him. Dean cleared his throat, his eyes darting around.

“I agreed to this because I want to do it. Not because I expect payment.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I mean, it’s gonna take up your time, and being a high school teacher I’m guessing you don’t have an abundance of that-“

“It is not of import. I will not accept payment from you.”

“What-seriously? I can’t just- no, you’re a professional, and I can’t just waste your time and not even-“

“If it matters to you that much, let’s just say you owe me a favor.” He said, standing up straighter. Dean sputtered, looking for something to say, to object, but Cas just took the plastic cup and sat down at the same place he did the day before, and Dean got the distinct expression that this was the end of this discussion and there’s nothing he can do about that. He finally closed his mouth and leaned on the counter, staring at the register and trying to understand what the hell just happened.

“So, what do you do? Other than work at Starbucks, I mean.” Cas asked. Dean was about to answer, then remembered-

“Wait, aren’t you going to be late?”

Cas blushed.

“No, I… I actually always arrive half an hour early. It was only yesterday that I… got over myself, if that is how you use that phrase?” He asked but didn’t let Dean answer, “And stayed to talk to you like I’ve been meaning to do.”

Dean blinked again. This day was full of surprises.

“Um… why would you want to talk to me?” He asked, partially out of curiosity, but mostly out of the annoying paranoia that can’t seem to let go of him whenever something nice happens. Cas blushed again, ducking his head.

“You… seem interesting.”

Dean’s eyebrows attempted to become one with his hair. He cleared his throat.

“I, uh… thanks, I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “There’s not much to tell. I work at Bobby’s Auto Repair Shop, and at Ellen’s.”

“Ellen’s?”

“Oh, I mean The Roadhouse. I’m just so used to calling it Ellen’s.” He chuckled. Cas tilted his head at him, which at this point Dean took as an invitation to elaborate. “Ellen is the founder and owner of the Roadhouse, and she…” He trailed off, thinking how to best describe their relationship without giving too much detail. He took a look at Cas- he was staring at him again, this sort of laser focus, like he was drinking Dean’s words just as eagerly as his Cold Brew. Dean swallowed nervously. He wasn’t used to people being interested in what he has to say – not strangers, anyway. And there was something about Cas’ eyes, the way he looked at Dean, that made him feel like he could tell him anything.

But, he’s fallen for that trick before. He won’t do it again.

So, he cleared his throat, and said: “Me and Sam know her from way back when.”

Cas nodded, seeming content with the answer.

“We actually know Bobby from way back, too.” He found himself saying. Cas nodded again, eyes wide.

“Have you been in this town long?”

“A couple of years, yeah. Since I was eighteen, I think.”

“I only moved here a few months ago.”

“And how are you finding it?”

Cas’ eyes darted between Dean’s.

“I think it is… very nice.” He said slowly. Dean couldn’t help but stare back. There was a loud CRASH from somewhere in the back of the store, followed by an even louder: “I’m fine! Everything’s fine!” That had to have come out of Charlie’s mouth. Dean rolled his eyes good naturedly, while Cas’ face adopted a very deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Cas? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Dean.” He took a deep breath. “Where did you live before you came here?” He continued serenely. Dean narrowed his eyes and laughed a little.

“Dude, I’m not gonna give you my whole friggin’ life story over a cup of coffee.”

Cas’ eyes widened.

“Of course. I apologize. I am… not familiar with the etiquette in this sort of situation.”

“What sort of situation?” Dean’s voice betrayed his suspicion, but Cas didn’t seem to notice.

“I want to get to know you.” Cas said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean was surprised yet again.

“I thought that was clear when I said you interested me.” Cas continued like he didn’t just shatter Dean’s whole world view. Dean blinked, cleared his throat, licked his lips, then blinked again.

“But why would you… I mean, I’m not… I’m just…” He stammered. Cas stared at him.

“Do you really not see what…?” He trailed off. Dean just blinked again.

“You work three jobs, you have a little brother whom your passion for can only be rivaled by his for you, you light up like a star when you speak of him, and you always try to be nice even when you are clearly incredibly tired and sleep deprived. And this is just from knowing you for a week. I… You are probably the most interesting person I have ever met.”

Dean let out a surprised laugh.

“That’s not- I don’t- I’m not- Just-“ He stammered, and Cas just looked at him incredulously again. They stared each other down for a while. “Anyway-“

“I should probably go.” Cas got up.

“Yes! Yes, you probably have classes to teach, and things-“

“Yes, the students must be waiting for me-“

“Right. Yes. You wouldn’t want to-“

“-Be late. Indeed.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other some more, until Cas cleared his throat and muttered: “Goodbye, Dean. Thank you.” And left.

A vacuum seemed to have formed around Dean’s ears for the next thirty seconds, before Charlie cleared her throat and made Dean jump.

“Jesus Christ!” He shouted, gripping the counter.

“So.” Charlie waggled her eyebrows. Dean raised one of his in question. “When are you gonna ask him out?”

“Excuse me?” He said, convinced he heard her wrong.

“Well, I mean, I don’t wanna assume, but it looks like you’re kinda into him.” She amended. Dean did _not_ feel better. In fact, he felt much, much worse. His mind was thrown back to years before. A particularly one-sided conversation about some guy… a case in New York in 1993… His dad’s face, contorted into a sneer even as he tried to keep it straight… He was fourteen at the time.

His vision began to swim. _Dammit, he was having a good day!_

“I-I’m not- I’m not into guys.” He stammered out, his hands threatening to shake. He forced himself to slam the figurative door in his head on those thoughts. He could _not_ afford to have a breakdown right now.

Charlie’s expression immediately changed. It softened for a fraction of a second – so short that Dean thought he might’ve imagined it – and then she wore her smile once again and shrugged.

“Oh, well, sorry for assuming. It might be my own gayness clogging up my gaydar.” She winked, squeezed his shoulder, and turned around. Dean might’ve been seeing things, but he thought he saw her eyebrows pinch in worry. He took a deep breath, and returned to his work.


	6. World's Worst Dad Makes a Comeback

“So, what did he say?” Sam asked when they sat down for dinner.

“Hm?” Dean asked, his focus having been lost somewhere between his first and second bite.

“The costumer. Who teaches Latin? What did he say?”

“Oh, Cas, yeah, he’ll do it. For free, too.” Dean said noncommittedly, his mind instantly throwing back to what Charlie said.

“Cas… is that short for something?” Sam contemplated, pushing his vegetables around.

“Mhmm. Castiel. Like the angel.”

“Angel?”

“Yeah, you know, fluffy wings, harps.”

“Since when do you know angel names?” Sam’s face scrunched up.

“I don’t. That is literally how he introduced himself.”

“’I’m Castiel, like the Angel?’” Sam said mockingly.

“Yup.” Dean popped the ‘p’, still staring at his plate like it would provide all the answers. They continued eating in silence for a little while.

“Is… everything alright, Dean?”

“Everything’s perfect, Sammy.”

“Are you sure? You seem a little… out of it.” Sam looked at him with those big, worried, puppy-dog eyes.

“Sleep deprivation, Sammy. It’s the fuel on which I operate.”

Sam eyed him uncertainly.

“If you say so.” He stabbed a piece of lettuce. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Was Dean’s knee-jerk response. They both chuckled and finished up their dinner, Dean getting ready for his shift.

Charlie’s remark made Dean reevaluate the whole way he handled himself around Cas. He didn’t stare at him, didn’t look directly at his eyes like he used to, and kept the perfect socially acceptable distance between them. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t seem to get the memo, and just kept looking at Dean the exact same way, still asked Dean to choose his coffee for him in that tone of voice that made Dean think the guy was putting way too much faith in him, and still sat down at the counter every morning to chat with Dean. By Saturday, Dean learned that Cas came from quite a religious family, which meant all of his four cousins and, like, 8 siblings had the names of angels. Which was weird to Dean, but he refrained from saying so. He _also_ learned that Cas’ childhood was a sensitive topic (Dean could relate), that he went to a religious boarding school and was convinced he was going to be a Religion teacher in the very same boarding school until one of his sisters (Anna) rebelled against their parents and he decided to come to a compromise and teach something that was connected to religion and actually interested him but not directly _connected_ to it.

Dean tried not to be a total asshole and indulged in conversation with Cas, but he was careful not to share too many details. He still couldn’t shake off what Charlie said, as well as his own suspicions. He told Cas about Sam and his ambition to get into Stanford, about how well he was doing in school and how Dean has to get creative in the kitchen sometimes just to keep them from getting bored of the same food. He avoided talking about his past entirely. Cas seemed to be okay with that.

Saturday rolled around without Dean even noticing. Sam joined him in the Impala, books in hand, and sure enough, half an hour later Cas arrived with his own books, with the addition of a messenger bag.  Dean chose yet another cup of coffee for him, and gestured over to Sam. Dean kept working, but he also kept an eye on his little brother. He seemed to be doing great – there were no frustrated grunts, which Dean took as an absolute victory, and Cas didn’t seem annoyed that his time was being wasted. An hour and a half later they called it a day, and Cas left with a smile and a “thanks” thrown in Dean’s direction (he didn’t know what he was being thanked for, but he wasn’t going to complain). Sam kept poring over his notebooks throughout Dean’s shift, and everything seemed… fine. Kind of good, even. Dean’s feeling only improved when Sam told him that Cas had been a great help and will be seeing him again next week, same time.

Saturday passed by, and everything was still… fine. Dean didn’t know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Usually his plans went up in flames and every acquaintance he’s ever made disappeared from his life, one way or another. But things were going well.

What surprised him even more was that things _kept_ going well. Cas still came by every morning, still sat down to chat with Dean, still trusted Dean with his coffee choices, and still didn’t realize Dean was doing everything in his power to make their conversations seem as platonic as humanly possible.

Which is why, as Dean expected, by Tuesday of that same week, everything went to hell. He fooled himself, thinking John would give up that easily. He was on his way to The Roadhouse when he called – the number was unknown, so Dean didn’t answer, thinking it probably wasn’t urgent. The phone kept ringing, incessantly, until he finally decided to pick up just to stop the annoying sound.

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

Dean’s hand tightened on the wheel, almost veering off the road. He took a deep breath, willing himself to control his breathing. He _will not_ let John make him this anxious, dammit. He couldn’t keep going like this – just the sound of John’s voice sending him into dizzy spells, he couldn’t function like that. Sam had offered therapy (of course he would), but the last thing Dean needed was some pompous bastard telling him to “open up” and “talk about his feelings”. Especially when they could barely afford one session.

“John.” He forced air out of his nose.

“Oh good, it’s you. So- Dean, I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’ve made that clear the other two times you decided it was okay to invade my personal life.” Dean spat out, surprised at the venom in his tone. Something about not seeing John’s face, knowing he can’t actually see the disappointment written so clearly on his face, made him just that much braver. He still couldn’t help picturing it; but at least he had the road to focus on instead. He heard John take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

“Look, I know I’ve made mistakes over the years. But I really do have a lead now. This isn’t a trick, and it isn’t some half-assed theory. I know what I’m saying.”

Dean stayed silent, his jaw muscles twitching.

“I know I probably haven’t earned that right, but I just want to meet with you, somewhere private, where you can look at the facts and see that I’m telling the truth.”

By now Dean had already arrived in Ellen’s parking lot. He eased the car to a stop, focusing on his breathing, trying to think.

“Come on, don’t you want to find the guy who did this? Who killed Mary, your mother?”

“You say that like I’d forgotten who she was.” Dean says quietly, still seeing, in his mind’s eye, the hard look in John’s eyes whenever Dean tried to say that he missed mom too – like his pain was nothing compared to John’s, like he had no right to complain. John stayed silent for a moment.

“Just one meeting, Dean. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Dean considered this for a moment. John has been in town for more than a week – that’s longer than he’s ever stayed in a town without a case. That meant that this was important to him – important enough to keep harassing Dean until he agreed.

“Tomorrow, 6:30 p.m. at Paul’s. I got a shift almost immediately after, so I won’t stay long.”

“Of course. I’m so happy we can-“

“Don’t be late.” Dean cut him off, a little breathlessly, and hung up.


	7. Dean's Not an Alcoholic; It's Just Easier to Drink Than Deal With John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I feel like I have to apologize for the horrible titles. It's not my fault, I swear! I've been reading Magnus Chase recently and I completely blame Rick Riordan for giving his chapters the most ridiculous titles in existence. D:

Even though they only talked about inane things, like their different stances on cats and bees, Dean’s love for his car and Cas’ weird passion for Etymology, Cas immediately noticed Dean was tense when he walked in the next morning. And Dean knew that Cas knew because he did that weird head-tilt of his, squinted at Dean and didn’t complain when the coffee Dean served him was the exact same one from the day before.

“Hello, Dean.” He said, sitting down and grabbing his coffee.

“Cas.” Dean greeted shortly. Charlie wasn’t in today – unlike him, she didn’t work at Starbucks every friggin’ day of the week – so he didn’t even have her usual chipper energy to power him up that morning. Instead, he got some weird guy named Bruce who looked like he’d rather fall into a manhole than be there that morning. Dean imagined he didn’t look much better, but still.

“Is… everything okay?” Cas asked gently. He wasn’t always the most subtle of conversationalists, but he did notice Dean didn’t like to share anything too personal, and he respected that. Dean appreciated that about him. A lot, in fact.

Dean sighed. Was it worth it to keep it in? Was it worth it to share and risk getting laughed at, or worse, scaring Cas away? Dean settled for a tired: “Not really.”

Cas nodded. His eyes stayed locked on Dean’s, and Dean was too tired to purposefully look away.

“How’s Sam?” He asked slowly, and Dean could almost cry in relief. How the heck did this person, who knew him for about two weeks, already know talking about Sam was practically therapeutic to Dean?

“He’s great, actually. Fantastic. He’s doing really well in Latin, too. Says Naomi keeps giving him the stink-eye.” He huffed a laugh. The corners of Cas’ mouth twitched upwards, and for some reason Dean considered that a victory.

“That’s excellent. And the fact that he’s doing well is a nice bonus, I’m sure.” Cas said dryly, startling a laugh out of Dean before he could catch himself.

“Yeah, that Naomi’s a real bitch, huh?”

“You could say that, yes.”

Cas took a sip.

“So, how are your students?”

“Good, I’m very pleased with them. They are doing very well.” He glanced at his coffee then looked back up at Dean. “I know how you look when you are tired, and if you don’t wish me to push, I won’t,” Cas started, and for some reason, for _once in his life_ , Dean didn’t stop him, “But you look very… upset today.”

Dean looked at his hands, resting on the table. And at that moment Cas exhibited another quality that Dean admired: he let the silence linger. He didn’t get awkward, he just waited for Dean to decide where the conversation would go. Dean looked back up and saw Cas had been studying him. Somehow, it didn’t bother him as much as it should have. His eyes darted between Cas, trying to formulate some kind of response.

“J-My dad’s back in town.” He said. Cas’ eyes softened, but he didn’t respond. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out – but he didn’t. “I promised him I’d get a drink with him.” His eyes dropped again. “It’s…” he trailed off, not sure how to complete that sentence. Then his eyes widened in alarm- “Cas, by everything that’s holy, swear to me you won’t tell Sam that I’m meeting John!” The name slipped out in his rush. Cas’ lips tightened, but he nodded his agreement.

 

6:30 p.m. came around way too soon for Dean’s liking. Dean walked into the bar, each footstep heavier than the last. John was waiting for him in one of the side booths- _he doesn’t want to be overheard,_ Dean thought absently.

John’s face broke into a grin when Dean sat down in front of him. Dean didn’t return the gesture. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

“Hey, Dean.” John said, kind of pointlessly. Dean nodded, eyes darting around. He needed a drink, _pronto_.

“I hope you’re paying for the drinks.” He said, trying and failing to keep John’s stare for longer than half a second.

“Of course.” John said and waved his hand, signaling something to the bartender. He then handed Dean a manila envelope, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Dean took it, opening it up as quickly as he could without ripping it open-

Police reports. Documents. Security camera footage.

All of the same person.

“What is this?” Dean asked hoarsely.

“That’s him. That’s the guy.” John’s voice was shaking. “Some psycho who calls himself Azazel. Multiple accounts of arson, murder and torture.”

“Torture?” Dean’s voice almost breaks, but he holds it in. Some memories were best locked away forever.

“Torture.”

“And you know where the bastard’s gonna be?”

“Better. I set up a meeting with him.” John said as a waiter brought over two glasses of beer. Dean picked his up and started chugging immediately.

“I’m gonna need a stronger drink if we’re going to have this conversation.” He muttered, _loathing_ himself for sounding exactly like John. John only chuckled and signaled something again.

“Good man.” He said, and Dean’s whole body shivered. “I set up a meeting with this son of a bitch for a week from now. I’m finally gonna drag his ass to hell, where he belongs.” John spat venomously, all traces of familial friendliness wiped clean.

“What, you’re gonna call the feds?” Dean asked. He had to wait for his answer, as just then the waiter came once again with four shot glasses. Something told Dean that was Tequila.

“Something like that.” John said, way too ominously.

“So, what, you want me to tag along?”

“Don’t you?” He almost shouted, incredulous. Dean flinched, his clenched fists no longer helping the tremors. His vision was blurring slightly. Dean downed two shots.

“I’ve got a job. Jobs plural, actually. I gotta take care of Sam-“

“Oh, come on, Sammy’s a big boy, he can handle himself now.” John gestured wildly with his hands, and Dean hunched in on himself. His breaths were ragged. It might’ve been the alcohol, or just that the past week has had him so high-strung he didn’t give a shit anymore, but he found himself spitting out: “Oh, like I handled myself when I was eighteen, with nothing but a car, some fake ID’s and my knowledge of hustling pool?”

John’s face hardened.

“I know I wasn’t the best of fathers, Dean-“ Dean shut him out as he downed another two shots, trying to block out the mental warnings his brain kept yelling at him. He didn’t even wave goodbye – he up and left. He was pretty sure John was calling his name, but he couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face thinking about all those years ago, what he’d dealt with – what Sam had to go through. Couldn’t stand knowing that despite all of that, despite hating what John made their lives become, despite logically acknowledging the fact that he should do everything in his power to resist doing whatever it was John wanted him to – despite all of that, every fiber of his being was desperate to just _go_. To make dad proud, to be more like him, to make him happy, so that maybe things could go back to normal.

He laughed bitterly, alcohol making his head buzz lightly. It was better than thinking. _This_ , this small buzzing in the back of his head, he could deal with. Working on autopilot, running his mouth and talking to costumers. A couple of months ago he might’ve even looked for someone to take home for the night, but now that kind of lost its appeal, for whatever reason.

Ellen and Jo both seemed to notice that Dean was in no mood for prodding questions, because they were silent, even though Dean was pretty sure he _reeked_ of alcohol.

As soon as Dean got home, he fell face-first into his bed, knowing full well he’d regret that decision come morning.


	8. Flashback Season

_November 1993_

It was officially the worst month of Dean’s life so far. John sort of dropped them off in the general vicinity of the school, then left to investigate the drug ring operating in the town. Dean hated the fact that he couldn’t join him, but dad said, and Dean was quoting: “It’s a quick job. If I need any help I’ll come get you.” Which was code for “I don’t want you around for this job for some reason or other that I’m not going to tell you, but you’ll figure out sometime later.”

Dean didn’t usually keep track of the dates. There were only two important dates in his life – Sammy’s birthday and Mom’s…

But anyway, he would always notice when May rolled around for Sam’s birthday, and as for the latter, he always knew, because Dad would get back to the motel really drunk, clutching a bottle of something. Sometimes, he would let Dean drink a little, too.

“Okay Sammy, you got your books, notebooks?”

“Yeah.”

“Lunchbox? Your knuckle-duster?”

“Yes, Dean.” Sam said in his stop-being-my-overprotective-big-brother-you’re-embarrassing-me voice. Dean smirked and ruffled his hair.

“Alright. Have a good day at school, kiddo.”

Sam slapped his hand away, and ran forward, leaving Dean behind with a fond smile on his face.

Dean hated school. He didn’t see the point – he was going to spend the rest of his life traveling around the states with his dad anyway, hunting for cases. He failed to see how studying _math_ or the so-called “science” that they taught at this school (honestly, he’s been to a _lot_ of schools, but this one had to be one of the academically worst ones) would help him in life. Even if he _was_ kind of okay at math.

Sammy, though? Sammy loved it. Everything about it. Interacting with the other kids, jotting down notes in class, studying and learning new things. Dean loved to see him so excited, even if he couldn’t share his excitement. Kid was only 10 years old, but he already was much smarter then Dean could ever hope to be.

Which is why Dean did everything in his power to make sure Sam’s first day in this place would go as smoothly as possible. He was willing to fight any and every person who even _thought_ about teasing or bugging his little brother. Luckily, he didn’t need to. Apparently, what this certain school lacked in academic competence, it made up for in “friendly environment”, as they called it. Dean didn’t really care, so long as Sammy was happy.

He found the date out by accident, when one of the teachers wrote it on the chalk board: November 1st. He gritted his teeth and decided not to look up anymore that lesson. November 1st meant he needed to either convince Sammy to stay in his room tomorrow or convince him to go to a friend. It’s not like Sam never saw dad drunk, or drinking – it’s just that November 2nd always made it worse. He took a deep breath, and started trying to figure out what to tell Sam. Each year, it got harder to keep Sam away. He had always spent less time with their dad and more time angry at him, which is why, more often than not, he stayed at other houses, and got to see how other families handled themselves. He kept trying to convince Dean that he should stop listening to their dad, that he should stop doing everything he asked because he was a drunk with no stable job, and that’s not how a normal family works. More often than he’d care to admit, Dean found himself yelling at Sam that having your house burned down with your mother trapped inside when you were kids wasn’t how a normal family works, either. On good days, it ended with Sam storming off. On bad days, it ended with a punch to Dean’s face. And so, each year, on November 2nd, Sam decided it was his mission to get himself and Dean as far away from dad as possible, even though Dean kept insisting he had to be with dad in case he needed his help. And each year, Sam got more and more stubborn, saying he’s not going anywhere unless Dean came with him. He folded, eventually, because he was still the little brother, and Dean still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He was startled out of his thoughts when someone said: “Can I sit here?”

Dean looked up. It was a boy, his age, with dark green eyes and short, brown hair. Nothing remarkable, yet Dean found himself staring at the boy’s warm eyes for far too long. The boy cleared his throat, glancing at the chair next to Dean. He immediately flushed, and nodded, looking away.

“I’m Aaron.” The boy said.

“Dean.” Dean said shortly, rubbing his neck. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t like it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be feeling it. It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be. He was a _guy_ , and he liked _girls_ , not boys. Boys were just… friends. Buddies, people he could hang out with. Like dad hung out with Bobby. Well, usually them hanging out ended up with a lot of shouting and at least one black eye, but you get the point. In any case, he quickly decided he wanted nothing to do with this guy. Which was problematic, because next thing he knew, the teacher handed out group assignments. For groups of two. Which consisted of the people sitting next to each other.

The thing was, Dean was a slacker when it came to school. Keeping the Impala in shape? No problem. Helping his dad with a case? Any day. But sitting in a stuffed classroom and scribbling useless shit on a piece of paper? That was just a waste of time.

So, that offered two solutions to his problem: he could continue being a dick and do absolutely nothing until the end of that period, _or_ , he could actually pretend to give a shit for just this lesson and help the poor guy out, make sure he didn’t fail the assignment on account of Dean being lazy. The easy option, of course, would be to be a dick.

But, glancing at Aaron, the other option started sounding suspiciously tempting.

 

Dean hated dreaming. When it wasn’t just a mass of fire and the acrid smell of burning flesh, it was memories from his teen years. If his brain felt like sparing him, he’d dream about making bacon Mac n’ Cheese for Sammy or helping him with his first-grade math homework. If he fell asleep too drunk, it would be _those_ memories. The ones that had him waking up in cold sweat.

It was stupid, really – that the simple memory of Aaron, from all those years ago, would have him waking up gasping and curling his fingers into the sheets. But the truth was, it wasn’t talking to Aaron that made his throat close up for a minute before his mind connected back to reality.

It was even stupider that this particular memory came to him _now_ , days after Charlie’s stupid comment, just because he saw John. He resisted the urge to cuss John in his head, though he didn’t really know why he held himself back.

“Dean?”

Ah, there it was. Sammy’s worried voice.

“All good, Sam. I’m just getting dressed.” He called, taking a quick look at his clock – just enough time to squeeze in a quick shower and still get to Starbucks in time.


	9. Dean Is an Asshole But He's Getting Better

“Morning, bitch!” Charlie called, bursting through the front door and smiling enormously. Dean felt his mouth twitch.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” He asked, half-jokingly.

“Who has the entire DVD box-set of Star Wars and just scored a hot date for this Saturday?”

“Let me guess.”

“That’s right – _this girl!_ ” She twirled around and disappeared into the storage room, revealing Cas who was standing behind her, squinting and tilting his head.

“What is- Star Wars? I believe I’ve heard of it, but-“

“Dude.” Dean and Charlie said simultaneously, Charlie’s head popping out. Cas blinked.

“No. No way! Cas, buddy, have you _never_ seen even _one_ Star Wars movie?” Dean asked, incredulous. Cas shook his head, his eyes wide. Dean and Charlie exchanged a meaningful look.

“We have _got_ to fix that. Like, right now.” Charlie said, determined. “Okay, maybe not _right now_ right now, but like, as soon as possible.” She gushed. “Sunday at my place, 10 a.m.? I’ll have a shit-ton of popcorn and we’ll marathon the entire series.”

“The _entire_ series?” Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Okay, yeah, I get your point, but it’s still Star Wars.”

“Ex- _cuse_ me?! You cannot, with a straight face, tell me you consider those abominations of cinematic creation part of Star Wars.”

“What are you talking about?” Cas tilted his head. Charlie and Dean shushed him immediately.

“I _know_ they’re not nearly as good as the classics but they’re still important to understand the whole story!”

Dean huffed and crossed his arms.

“Fine. I _guess_ you have a point. But we’re watching the classics first!”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way!” Charlie grinned, and they shook on it.

“Give me your numbers and I’ll text you my address.” Charlie pulled out her phone and handed it to each of them in turn. “So, it’s settled – Sunday, 10 a.m., my house, about 3 tons of popcorn.”

Dean’s phone immediately chirped with a new group message- Charlie’s address.

“Damn, you’re quick.” He chuckled, and pocketed his phone. She shrugged and disappeared again.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas gave him a small smile, and Dean huffed a breath of laughter at Cas’ insistence to say that every morning.

“Hey, Cas. How about a… Blonde Roast with some Hazelnut flavoring?” He asked. Cas nodded, Dean took his money and got to work making the coffee.

“How are you doing, Dean?” Cas asked in a way that sounded suspiciously like he knew what happened yesterday.

“Same as usual, you know. Tired as shit.” He threw a grin Cas’ way, slightly concerned at the frown Cas was sporting. “How about you? How are your students doing?” He deflected easily.

Dean turned around to hand Cas his coffee, but Cas stared at him for a solid 40 seconds before Dean cleared his throat and mumbled something about the cup being really, painfully hot.

“My students are fine.” Cas finally said. “How is Sam doing?”

“Great. He’s doing fantastic in _every_ subject now, thanks to you. Hangs out with his friends a lot, when he isn’t buried in a book.”

“I am glad to hear that. We’ve scheduled a meeting again this Saturday.”

“Oh, really?” Dean’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Yes. In case he needs more help. And, as he put it; ‘We’re both gonna be hanging out here anyway, right?’”

Dean chuckled at Cas’ recurrent use of air-quotes. Hearing Sam’s words in Cas’ voice made him feel something weird in the general region of his chest. He chalked it up to his exhaustion and hang-over and decided to move on with his life.

“Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ Sammy would say,”

“Dean, how are you really?” Cas didn’t even give him a minute after finishing his sentence to ask him this. Dean blinked, taken aback.

“Dude, I’m fine, what the heck?” He immediately defended. He liked talking to Cas – he did. And sure, he felt comfortable telling him that John was back in town, and that it wasn’t putting him in the best of moods. But if he was going to pull all that emotional shit on Dean like Sam always tried to do, he was in for one hell of a ride on the Dean-can-be-an-asshole-and-he-knows-it Express.

Cas visibly flinched. Dean allowed himself to feel a pang of regret, but nothing more.

“I see.” He broke eye-contact with Dean. Dean busied himself with re-organizing the cups and pastries, which very clearly did _not_ need re-organizing. Cas cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better go.” He muttered, grabbed his coffee, and left, even though they both knew he had at least twenty more minutes until he _really_ had to go. Dean didn’t stop him.

*

“What’s got _you_ in such a great mood this evening?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“Shut up.” Dean said, without any heat. Probably because he was so tired. Sam took a deep breath, like he was gearing up to say something.

“Did you go see John last night?” He asked, silently. Dean carefully kept his face neutral.

“Yeah.”

“Why would you- ugh, Dean, I can’t believe you right now!” Sam threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I just went out to have a drink with him, okay? He’s still in town, he wanted to catch up-“

“Catch up. Is that what he’s calling it now? Catch up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He got a case in the area, didn’t he? And he wanted you to tag along and help, _didn’t he_?”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t, do I? I don’t know about all the times you told me to go to a friend’s house after school because you and John were closing up a case? Or all the times you didn’t let me into your room because you needed some ‘alone time’, when you were actually stitching yourself up? You think I didn’t see all the bloodied rags, didn’t notice when your skin was multi-colored because you had to teach yourself how to apply make-up, so people wouldn’t notice all the damn bruises you were getting? You think I didn’t see you wincing all the time between making dinner and taking me to school when he wasn’t around? Which was, oh yeah, _all the damn time_?”

“Sam, I don’t have time for this-“

“No, you’re not getting out of this discussion. You’re _not_ , because I need to understand what that good-for-nothing deadbeat who calls himself our dad _ever_ did to deserve you going to have a _fucking drink_ with him.”

Sam breathed in short gasps of air. Dean shook his head. The kid was only eighteen, but he had _so much anger_ in him. If there ever was anything Dean regretted more than everything else, it’s that Sammy had to deal with all that as a kid. That he had to be exposed to John, that he was left with so much of that rage because of his fucked-up childhood. Because _Dean_ couldn’t even give him a normal goddamn childhood.

“Sam, he’s still our dad.” Dean said, resigned.

“No. No he’s not. Bobby is more of a dad to us than John ever was.”

“Sam-“

“No, you listen to me. After mom’s death, he was delusional. He was an unemployed, delusional, alcoholic, abusive asshole. He had no right to treat us- to treat _you_ the way he did. You shouldn’t have had to raise me like a father. _He_ was the one who was supposed to do that. He was supposed to teach me how to read, to help me with my homework, to show me how to ride a bike, to take me to school, to clean my wounds when I got injured. Not you. You were supposed to be a _kid_ , Dean. You were supposed to make friends, to do well in school like I know you could, to have an actual girlfriend and not just random hookups. You _deserved_ all that. And you still deserve better now. You refuse to see that, but you deserve better. You shouldn’t have to hold down three jobs just to support us. You shouldn’t have to deny yourself a normal life because of what he did to us. And maybe I can’t get you to let me help with the money, but you _can’t_ stop me from doing everything I can to not let that man try to make you do everything he says again.” The words tumbled from Sam’s mouth in a rush, an almost-yell. Dean hated hearing his usually soft-spoken little brother so angry. He sighed. All the things Sam had said – he’d heard it before. Not all at once, never with the conviction Sam had now, but Bobby and Ellen and Jo all said similar things to him before. He wanted to believe them, he truly did. He wanted to be able to wake up in the morning and say to himself: “Today I’m gonna take a day off, and I’m gonna do something I like, and it’s absolutely fine.” But he never could. John’s voice hovered in the back of his mind like a ghost – _take care of Sammy, why can’t you follow simple orders, I need you to keep Sammy safe, can’t you even keep your brother in check, can’t you handle one simple task_ – and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of it. He used to be angry at himself for it. What the hell was so wrong with him that he couldn’t even shake off something that happened _years_ ago now?

But now he was just tired. He was exhausted, and aching, and hungry, and more than anything he just wanted to head to the Roadhouse and drink some booze when no one was watching. He took a deep breath, and looked Sam in the eye, deciding on telling him the truth.

“He had a lead on mom’s murderer.”

“He- he what?” Sam said hoarsely.

“Yeah. He thought I’d want to join. I walked out.” He shrugged. “I got jobs, I got you to take care of. And. And I.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around. Getting these next words out felt like trying to pull out one of his fingernails. There was heavy guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, but he elected to ignore it. “I don’t want to get dragged back into that.” He looked at Sam briefly. Sam’s face broke into a grin, and he ran a hand through his hair in relief.

“Can I hug you-“

“Okay, okay, enough with the chick-flick moment-“ he started but was cut off by Sam tackling him in a huge bear-hug.

“Shut up. You love chick-flicks.” Sam held him tight. Dean chuckled, slowly wrapping his arms around his brother.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”


	10. Sundays Are For Marathoning Star Wars

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jumped. He actually kind of didn’t expect Cas to come back.

“Hey, Cas.” He couldn’t quite meet Cas’ eyes. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh… what do you wanna drink today?” He asked, and it was silly, but somehow he felt that Cas’ answer would determine everything about their interactions from now on. He held his breath in anticipation.

“I trust you to choose something I will enjoy.” He said in his usual gravelly tone, but his eyes glittered with something Dean didn’t recognize, but felt was positive, as he sat down at the bar. Dean let his shoulders sag, just a little, and sent a look Cas’ way which he hoped conveyed his apology. He was not good with words, to say the least, and he just knew that if he tried to apologize he would end up making things worse. Luckily, Cas seemed to understand.

“Well, since it _is_ fall, how about the most basic of all drinks – Pumpkin Spice Latte?”

“Sounds cozy.”

Their exchange proceeded as usual, and order was restored. Cas talked about his students, and Dean talked a little about this absolutely horrible car that came into the garage the other day, and Cas left ten minutes after he was supposed to.

Dean’s smile lasted the entire day.

*

Sam’s tutoring session with Cas came and went, and somehow, without Dean noticing, it was already Sunday morning. At 9 a.m. Charlie sent them both a picture of a gigantic bowl with the caption: “Deliciousness en route to bowl!”

Dean almost snorted into his coffee when Cas wrote: “In that case, I am en route to your house.” He shook his head slightly, a small smile on his face.

“Sam!” He called, grabbing his keys and jacket. Sam didn’t answer. “Sammy, I’m going to a friend’s house!” He called, and suddenly got a face-full of Sam’s hair.

“A friend?” Sam asked, almost bouncing with excitement. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, Sam, for once I actually have a social life.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“She’s a co-worker. We found out Cas has never seen Star Wars, so now we’re gonna marathon the movies at Charlie’s house.”

Sam smiled so wide Dean thought it must’ve hurt.

“Have fun with your friends, Dean.” He said, and there wasn’t an ounce of judgement or teasing in his voice – he just sounded genuinely happy. Dean found himself grinning in response, so he quickly got into his car before things could get even sappier.

*

“Dean!” Charlie called as soon as he pulled up in her driveway.

“Hey, Charlie.” He stumbled back slightly as she attacked him with a hug.

“Come on in! Castiel’s already eating the popcorn.”

“Whoa, he wasn’t kidding, was he?” Dean chuckled, and Charlie beamed at him.

Fortunately for Charlie (because Dean would throttle her if they didn’t), they started with the classics. Charlie commandeered an arm chair, sprawled over it like a hammock, while Dean and Cas shared the couch. Cas seemed surprisingly at home there – he didn’t put his feet up on the table or folded them beneath his thighs like some people did, and yet he seemed perfectly comfortable and at ease. He wasn’t tense like Dean, who, at first, just sat ramrod straight. It took him the entire first movie to ease up enough to be comfortable.

It took about twenty minutes for Cas to start asking ridiculous questions.

It started with: “But I don’t understand. There isn’t any sound in space.”

And went on to:

“Why does Luke want to leave home so badly?”

“Why is Han so sarcastic and rude to everyone?”

“Why is Leia so rude to Han? He had just saved her.”

“How is it that C3PO can speak but R2D2 can only make sounds?”

“Why does Yoda talk so strange?”

And so on, and on, and on.

Dean was switching between trying to hold his laughter in and trying not to rip Cas’ head off. It was quite the struggle.

Charlie really did stock up on snacks, like she promised – they only stopped to have lunch somewhere around three (where they also discussed all the movies so far. According to Cas they were: “Very interesting, but I still fail to see why you thought it was so horrible I didn’t watch them up till now.” Needless to say, Dean was baffled.) and then proceeded to watch the rest of the movies (Charlie insisted on including A New Hope even though Dean was furiously denying its existence) until around midnight.

“But why did they have to kill Han? I don’t understand.” Cas sniffled.

“Aw, Castiel, don’t cry! Oh my god!” Charlie jumped out of her chair and attacked Cas with a huge hug. A part of Dean wanted nothing more than to join the hug, but the other part (the more convincing one) told him he’d be overstepping and would make things awkward.

“I just-“ Cas hiccupped, and Dean’s heart broke a little. He understood Charlie’s reaction. “He didn’t deserve to die! He was just trying to help his son!” He sobbed quietly. Charlie glared at Dean, jerking her head towards Cas.

Dean let all his air out in one big sigh, then wrapped his arms around them both.

“I know, buddy, I know. It sucks. Personally, I’m still denying this movie’s existence. I cannot ever accept Han just… _dying_.”

Charlie brought him tissues then, and soon enough Cas calmed down enough to realize it was extremely late and they all had work the next day.

“I mean, I would invite you to sleep over, but that’s just impractical considering you don’t have any stuff here.” Charlie shrugged.

“It’s fine, Charlie. Thanks for inviting us. This was the most fun I’ve had in a… really, really long time.” Dean genuinely smiled. Cas beamed and nodded.

“Likewise.”

Half an hour later found Dean in bed, trying (and failing) to keep his eyes open so he wouldn’t remember his dream when he woke up. But this Sunday was just so fun – he didn’t remember ever having friends he could marathon Star Wars with. He couldn’t remember a Sunday when he wasn’t trying to drown his thoughts in daytime TV and repress whatever it was he was feeling. It was just, for once in his life, when he closed his eyes at night, his mind didn’t wander to his past. He didn’t worry about the future – all he could do was replay the events of the day.

And so, he fell asleep, with a smile on his face.


	11. Flashback Season, Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for homophobic language and general homophobia and self-hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can't write about John Winchester without having some asshole-y ignorance, right?

_November 2 nd, 1993_

“Hey, Sammy – I’m gonna stay at the library after school, so after you’re done meet me there. You can do your nerdy stuff while you’re there.” Dean smiled, tight-lipped, hoping against hope this would somehow actually turn out in his favor.

“Since when do _you_ go to the library?” Sam narrowed his eyes. “Is this another ploy to get me away from dad on mom’s anniversary?”

“Sure is, kiddo.” Dean sighed. The thing was- he wasn’t even fully lying. That was definitely part of this – it’s the _other_ part he was worried Sam would find out about.

He had no idea why he wanted to impress this Aaron kid so much. I mean, sure, he was nice, and kind of funny, and his eyes were a slightly different shade of green than Dean’s which made them really interesting…

No, stop. Dean could _not_ be thinking those things about another guy. He definitely did _not_ want to know what those eyes looked like up close or how crinkled Dean could get them by making Aaron laugh-

_Shit, no no no- this is counter-productive. Get a grip._

Dean physically shook his head, like a dog out of the water.

He took a deep breath.

This was going to be a long day.

 

Dean was surprised at his own ability to research. He made sure Sam was far enough away that he wouldn’t pay attention to Dean, but in his field of view.

Their “project” consisted of choosing a physicist, writing a bit of background on them, performing one of their experiments and reporting the results. So far, Aaron volunteered to research the physicist, and Dean was saddled with finding an experiment they could actually perform.

“So, how’s the experiment hunt going?” Aaron startled Dean out of his thoughts. Dean blinked, trying to wrack his brain for the last thing he read (about five minutes ago. It doesn’t matter what anybody tells you, it was definitely _not_ because at one point he looked up to see how Aaron was doing and then just kind of got stuck there).

“Um, good. I think I’m getting closer, these are actually manageable.”

“Great.” Aaron smiled, and Dean tried very hard to control his breathing.

Suddenly, a librarian appeared with a note in her hand, asking for Dean Winchester.

Dean shot Aaron an apologetic smile, then followed the librarian to the phone.

“Dean?” his dad’s voice greeted him as he put the phone to his ear.

“Hey, dad.” He said, keeping his voice neutral.

“Dean, where’s Sammy? What are you doing at the school library?”

“Sorry, sir, it was my idea. I was looking for some books to read to pass the time.”

“What? Why would you- I told you to stay at the motel when you’re not at school.” His voice slowly got an angry edge, the same one he got when Dean didn’t follow his orders. Which, Dean guessed, he didn’t. “Never mind. Get back to the motel.”

 “But sir-“

“I said get back. I need to talk to you. Both of you.” He said, and hung up.

“Shit.” Dean whispered as he sat back down in front of Aaron, and sent him another apologetic smile.

“Strict parents?” Aaron asked, his eyes understanding. Dean hated himself just a tiny bit more.

“Something like that. I’m really sorry, man. I almost got the experiment, though.” He grabbed his jacket and started making his way to Sam. “Call me if you need anything.” He added as an afterthought, not sure why, as he scribbled down the number of their motel and the room they were staying in.

“You… live in a motel?” Aaron asked slowly, clearly trying not to sound judgmental. Dean shrugged, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“It’s a temporary thing.” He said, and then he left in earnest, getting Sam and getting on the first bus to the motel.

 

Their dad was not happy to see them, to say the least. He was pacing from side to side when Dean walked in, putting Sam behind him almost unconsciously.

“What took you so long?” He barked, and Dean knew better than to answer. Thankfully, Sam took the hint and kept his mouth shut. “We’re gonna be leaving tomorrow. There’s nothing here.”

Dean nodded, posture still stiff. Part of him was waiting for orders, the other part wanting to be a barrier between Sam and their dad.

“Pack your things.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean said immediately and grabbed Sam by the sleeve as gently as he could without allowing him to wiggle free.

“But, dad-“

“No buts, Sammy. I said we’re leaving, so we’re leaving.”

Sam tried to wrench himself free from Dean’s grip, but to no avail. Instead, he scoffed.

“Seriously? Why can’t we ever stay in one place more than a week?” He spat. “It’s bad enough that I can never keep in contact with anybody-“

“You don’t _need_ other people!” Dad spat. “That’s what your brother and I are for! We’re family, that’s all you need.” He said, trying to end the argument – but that never worked, not with Sam.

“Of course I need other people! It doesn’t matter how much I love you guys, you can’t be the only people I’ll ever know! And besides, if you had let me finish, I would have said that even forgoing the friend situation, at this rate I’ll probably never graduate! We can’t just keep moving around-“

“Yes we can! We can and we will until I find a way to keep you all safe! To find who killed your mother!”

“You’ve been doing that for years, with no results! Have you ever maybe thought you should consider, I don’t know, moving on?!” Sam truly yelled now, and Dean was convinced the other guests could hear them over the motel’s thin walls. Dad’s hands clenched in anger, and he stepped forward –

Dean knew what was coming. He’d been on the receiving more than once, and he wasn’t about to let Sam go through that. So he shoved himself between his dad and his brother, like he always did, opting to push his brother and hold him behind himself rather than try to push their dad away.

“Dad, just calm down. Come on, Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s still a snot-nosed kid.” Dean chuckled, hoping to diffuse the tension.

“I’m not a snot-nosed kid, Dean!” Sam yelled, indignantly.

“Sam, this is the part where you listen to your big brother and you shut up.” Dean said quietly. Sam huffed, but kept his mouth closed. Dad’s fists clenched one more time, but eventually he stepped back, huffing loudly, as if to rival Sam. Dean sighed a breath of relief. November 2nd was always the hardest day of the year.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Dad said, and Dean nodded, gripping Sam’s arm tight to stop him from making a smart-ass comment like he knew Sam wanted to. The door clicked shut behind their dad, and Dean allowed his shoulders to relax, just slightly.

“Alright kiddo, get on your homework. I’ve got some bad daytime TV to watch.” Dean forced a smile onto his face, but Sam wasn’t buying it.

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam said, not moving an inch. “You _know_ he’s going to get shitfaced at the nearest bar.”

“Hey, language.” Dean chided without any real heat. “Besides, what dad does is his own business.”

“Yeah? Is it still his own business when you have to clean up his mess?”

“Sammy, shut up.” Dean said, still smiling, trying to end this discussion before things get unnecessarily tense.

“No, Dean, I’m sick of this. Seriously. For once in your life, for as long as I’ve known you, you actually got to know some kid from school and you were _studying_ , and _having fun_ , and being a normal kid for once.”

“C’mon, Sammy, nobody wants to be normal!”

“But I mean it. The way you looked back the library – I’ve never seen you look at _anyone_ like that. And you looked like you were making actual progress with the project, and you looked just- like- like you were finally happy, not just pretending to be.”

Dean blinked. That had hit closer to home than he’d care to admit.

“You’re just seeing what you want to be seeing.” He said, hoarsely. Sam always was too smart for his own good. “Go do your homework. I’ll be here.”

Sammy huffs in annoyance, finally giving up.

 

Dean makes sure Sam’s long asleep by the time dad gets back. Sam was right, of course – he _did_ , in fact, get completely shitfaced at the bar, and when he stumbled in he barely managed to lock the door behind him.

“Hey, dad.” Dean said, quietly, for Sam’s sake.

“Dean?” He responds gruffly.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Silence.

“What were you even doing at the library? And don’t lie to me.”

Dean gulped. He wanted to lie, to take the easy way. He had a feeling his dad won’t actually be able to tell in this state. But he wouldn’t remember anyway, right? He was completely black-out drunk. So, what was the harm in telling him? Maybe Dean was wrong about him. Maybe he’d accept him, and this could be like a test run.

“I was… with this guy. We were doing a project, for school. I know we weren’t gonna stay here long, but- I was kinda hoping to just spend some more time with the guy. He was…” Dean faltered. Did he really want to do this? This could go so wrong. Dean already hated himself for what he was feeling – what if his dad hated him forever after this?

But then again, what if he helped? What if he told Dean that it’s okay? That would make everything better.

His dad didn’t seem to notice his pause. Dean took a deep breath and continued.

“He was kinda… cute.”

Dad’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and he narrowed them. It was like he sobered up in one word.

“Cute? Like how you find girls cute?”

“I-I mean, I guess-“

“Listen to me, son, and listen carefully. I can’t afford you turning into a gay on me. Those people, it, it just ain’t right, and besides, I need you to help me on cases, and you can’t do that if you’re all – if you’re busy – if you’re not-“ He seemed stuck, slurring his words as his eyes darted around the room. “You need to man up and get over it. You’re not some teenage girl.” He said, then nodded, as if satisfied with himself. Dean, on the other hand, nodded and clenched his fists to keep himself from doing anything stupid.

“Goodnight, sir.” He said, and went to lay in the bed adjacent to Sam, on top of the covers, not even bothering to change.


	12. Okay, Maybe It Was a Date

Dean woke up with John’s words still ringing in his ears, as Sam knocked on his door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up.” He grunts, and swings his legs over the bed. His mind drifts back to yesterday’s events – how easy it had been to just hang out with Charlie and Cas, how for the first time in what felt like forever, he finally felt relaxed, thanks to them. He found that he couldn’t wait to get to Starbucks (which should have scared him, and quite possibly served as a very loud warning bell, but Dean somehow didn’t notice).

Charlie came into the shop, early as ever, greeting Dean with her usual “Hey bitch!”, and Dean honestly could not be happier. He smiled and waved at her as she joined him in stocking the display fridge, and he felt like he was going to burst with excitement to see Cas again. Charlie fiddled with something on her phone, and Dean hummed – _actually hummed_ – some Metallica to pass the time. He glanced at the clock, confused. It was already 8:40, and so far, Cas has never come a minute later than 8:30. Dean told himself it didn’t mean anything, and tapped his fingers on the counter. Suddenly, his phone dinged.

_Hello, Dean. I apologize for being late. After staying up last night, I woke up late this morning. I will be there soon._

Dean chuckled to himself. Cas was always so formal – even in text. He sent him a quick _no worries_ , and got back to tapping the counter with nervous energy.

True to his word, Cas arrived about five minutes later, looking as frazzled as ever. Dean grinned so wide his cheeks were starting to hurt.

“Hey, Cas!”

The corner of Cas’ lips quirked upwards, and his eyes looked like the sun was trying to pour out of them with the way they shined.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean was giddy all through their conversation. From time to time, Charlie joined in, and it felt like the best day of Dean’s life.

He didn’t want to seem too eager, and yet he found himself sending Charlie and Cas a text after his shift at Bobby’s, saying he was going to be working the night shift at the Roadhouse, and if they wanted to swing by he could probably get them free drinks.

Cas replied, with his usual seriousness: _Thank you for the invitation, Dean. Unfortunately, I have papers to grade and lessons to plan. But, I hope to come visit the Roadhouse some other time this week._

Dean had absolutely no idea what Cas’ deal with bees was, but seeing his incredibly serious and formal texts framed by cute little bees was so funny he kind of didn’t even want to know the story, for fear of embarassing Cas.

Charlie, on the other hand, sent a short _You’d better, I hear they’ve got the best beer in town ;)_.

Dean chuckled to himself. The smile remained plastered to his face for the rest of the day.

True to her word, Charlie appeared that night, and between making drinks Dean actually managed to have a conversation with her – mainly about Star Wars, Indiana Jones, D&D and also LARPing (a new concept to Dean, which he was also very intrigued by). Charlie didn’t hesitate to tell him where she worked when she wasn’t at Starbucks – apparantly she worked at this huge Hi-Tech company, and her knowledge was so valuable that they basically let her do whatever she wanted, so she started working at the coffee shop to “blow off some steam”.

The week continued in much the same way, with Charlie dropping by at least once more that week, and Cas sending texts in varying degrees of ridiculosness. Their conversations started simple:

**_Cas:_ ** _I still do not understand, Dean, why did Obi-Wan Kenobi lie about his identity?_

**_Dean:_ ** _dude, idk, maybe to keep luke safe or somthn??_

And then, later:

 ** _Cas:_** _How's Sam?_

**_Dean:_ ** _great, he says hi_

And then, sometimes, an hour or so after he leaves Starbucks:

**_Cas:_ ** _Have a good day Dean!_

**_Dean:_ ** _you too buddy_

It was on a very thin line between annoying and endearing. Well, more on the endearing side (not that he would ever admit that to anyone). Come Friday, Dean decided there had to be a backstory to the whole bee thing.

“Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Why do you keep adding bees to your texts?” He asked, wiping down the counter. When Cas didn’t answer, Dean turned to him, only to find him squinting at him in that ~~adorable~~ familiar way that he always did when he didn’t understand Dean.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Dean.”

Dean chuckled.

“The emoticons, Cas. The little pictures you add to every text?”

“Oh!” Cas’ eyes lit up. “Yes. I like the little pictures very much. I feel that they add much to the written text.”

Dean almost had to bite his fist to stop his laughter.

“So, what’s with the bees?”

“Oh. I… I like bees. Very much. They’re just so incredible – so hard working and dedicated. And they create honey, which is, really, it’s a miracle.” He smiles, tight-lipped, and it’s an expression Dean has never seen before. It surprised him how much he wanted to see it again. Dean smiled slightly.

“Huh.”

“Speaking of which… I was… I was intending to ask you.” He paused, and Dean glanced at him, showing he was listening. “Since this Sunday was a lot of fun, I wanted to invite you to a bee farm not far from here, this Sunday, if you would like.” Cas looked into his cup, swirling it. Dean stopped wiping, staring at Cas instead. Cas wants to… go honey-collecting with him? What?

“Uh, sure. Is Charlie invited?” He tried for nonchalance.

“Oh, I… I was quite hoping it could be just the two of us.”

“Um…”

“But of course, if you’re uncomfortable, or maybe you don’t really like bees all that much, which is understandable, not everyone likes bees-“

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll join you.” Dean’s mouth said without his permission. Cas stopped mid-ramble. As soon as he processed the words, his face split into this huge gummy grin, and Dean wanted to kick himself because he felt a weird warm gooey feeling in his chest at the knowledge that he’s the one who put that grin there.

Something was very, very wrong.

Cas left not too long after, his eyes still sparkling with joy. Charlie came to the front not long after, and even if she had heard Dean’s conversation with Cas (which, he was pretty sure she had), she thankfully said nothing.

Saturday sailed by smoothly, and out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam laughing and Cas smiling his usual tight-lipped smile, which meant he thought whatever Sam was laughing about was indeed pretty amusing. It weirded Dean out that he caught himself smiling when he looked at them – more than once. Charlie had to literally snap her fingers in front of his face more than once to get his attention back. Seeing Sam so carefree, letting himself joke around and not be so serious all the time, it was incredible. It made Dean happy just knowing his little bro was having a good time. And if Cas just happened to be sitting there and smiling in this very particular Cas way that made Dean feel funny, and if seeing Cas and his brother getting along like that did weird things to his insides, well, no one needed to know that.

Before Dean knew it, Sunday had come around, and Cas was asking him for his address to pick him up. Dean didn’t really like the idea of driving in someone else’s car, much less letting another person drive, but he figured it would be rude to turn Cas down. So, even though Cas’ car was an absolutely _horrible_ shade of beige, and could barely stutter to life, Dean sucked it up and got inside. Cas greeted him as usual, and Dean responded like he always did, and then it was silent. Dean drummed his fingers on his thighs, trying to come up with something to say to make things less awkward. Cas didn’t seem to notice, though. He seemed pretty content with the silence.

“So… Sam tells me your lessons are going really well.” Dean started.

“They are. He’s making significant progress.”

“Yeah? Glad to hear that. Latin’s the only thing the kid was missing to have a perfect record.”

“Is he aiming for a perfect record?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. He’s hoping to get a scholarship for Stanford.”

“Stanford?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna be a big-shot lawyer, you know? I’m real proud of him.”

“Seems that you are right to be.” Cas smiled minutely.

“Nah, I’d be proud of him even if he decided to hustle pool for the rest of his life. Long as he doesn’t leave me in the dust.” Dean chuckled, half surprised at his words. He’d thought about it, of course – what was he going to do when Sam decided living with his big brother wasn’t enough for him? But he never voiced these thoughts, much less to someone not in the family. Which got Dean thinking (which was _never_ good) – wasn’t Cas kind of like family too? He seemed to care about the Winchesters – and other than Sam, he’s the only person Dean’s seen consistently for every day in the past two weeks. Dean shook off his thoughts when he realized Cas was staring at him.

“What about you?” He asked.

“What _about_ me?”

“Have you ever considered going to college?”

“What, me?” Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like I’d have the brains.” He shook his head. “No, college ain’t for me. I barely managed to get my GED.”

They reached a red light, and Cas turned to fully look at him.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Well, that’s the truth.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t think college ‘isn’t for you’.” He mimed air quotes around the words.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Dean stared back.

“You’re very intelligent. Even though you prefer to seem like you aren’t, you like solving riddles and puzzles, and you’re good at it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean frowned, torn between blushing at the compliment and bristling at Cas’ knowledge. “What makes you say that?”

Cas’ eyes darted down, and he blushed faintly.

“Sam told me.”

“Sam- _Sam_ told you.” Dean huffed.

“Yes. Besides, you fix cars – and, to my understanding, you haven’t received any professional training. Yet, you manage to fix cars as if you were a certified mechanic.” Cas went back to staring at Dean. The light switched to green.

“Dude. The light.”

“Oh. Right.” Cas turned back to the road, stepping on the gas. “I meant what I said, Dean. I believe if you were interested, you could complete your studies and attend any college of your choosing.”

Dean didn’t know how to answer. It was weird, hearing all of this from Cas. Cas, who was a Latin teacher, who was also probably much more intelligent and educated than Dean could ever even hope to be. Besides, it wasn’t like Dean _wanted_ to go to college… Right? He never even thought about it. They never had the money, and he didn’t have the patience to actually sit and study – exactly, he didn’t even _like_ studying. No, he liked his life exactly the way it was, thank you very much. No college needed.

But instead of saying any of that, he just shrugged.

“How far from the city _is_ this bee farm of yours?”

Cas dropped the subject after that.

\--

“I still don’t get it.” Dean flinched, trying to keep it together. “These things are creepy, man. Why do you like them so much?” He stepped back from the hive.

“They are magnificent creatures, Dean. Against all odds, they still fly, and they have an entire hierarchy dedicated to creating food and reproducing. And their importance for the ecosystem-“

“Okay, yeah, I get it, I watched Bee Movie.” Dean said, then immediately shivered. That movie was just _not okay_ , on any level at all. “But all the buzzing and the extra limbs and- doesn’t it freak you out?”

“Quite the contrary. I think they’re beautiful.” Cas stared at the hive, eyes darting between the swarm of little insects.

“Well, Cas, you’re on your own there.” Dean chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. Cas stopped, and Dean could physically see him deflating.

“Of course, I understand. We could go somewhere else, or-“

“Hey, no, come on, I can see you love the bees. We’ll stay, I’ll be fine.” Dean waved him off.

“But if you aren’t enjoying yourself-“

“I’m fine, man. As long as I don’t have to touch the things, I’m great.” He said, and oddly enough, it was the entire truth. He sat down on the ground, facing away from the bees, and they started talking. Not about anything specific – just like they always do, about life and everything and nothing. Dean asked Cas if his love of bees was always there, and Cas said he had a rough patch a few years ago, and had taken some time to be “one with nature” or something, which was when he discovered the bees. And then they somehow got to talking about childhood experiences, and Dean found himself telling Cas about that one time Sam was Batman for Halloween, and thought he could fly. It ended with a broken arm for Sam, of course. They just sat there, god knows for how long, joking and trading stories. Talking to Cas was just so fun, Dean didn’t even notice the bees most of the time.

By the time they decided they’d been in the farm for long enough, they were both starving.

“We could… eat together, somewhere? If you’d like?” Cas asked tentatively.

“Yeah, sounds great.” Dean said, shutting the car door.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Well, I know this great diner a few blocks from Starbucks. It’s got the second-best burger in town.”

“Second-best?”

“Well, the best burgers are Ellen’s of course, but it’s more of a bar than a diner, and… I dunno, you don’t really seem like the bar type.”

“Not for lunch, no.” Cas smiled. “Lead the way.”

 

Cas somehow managed to turn the diner into a completely new experience for Dean.

“You mean to tell me, that you have _never_ tried a burger?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Never. Not even once.”

“Not even once.”

“But-but _how?_ Seriously, I mean- _what gives?_ ”

“I suppose I never saw the appeal of it. Growing up in the family and school that I did, I usually ate either cafeteria food or cooked chicken and mashed potatoes at home. I guess I got used to it.” Cas shrugged. Dean was speechless for a minute.

“ _Wow._ ” He whistled. “I’ve got some educating to do.”

And so began, in Dean’s mind, the Burger Adventure™. And that was even before Dean discovered that Cas had never in his life tasted pie.

A waitress stopped to take their order, and smiled when Dean ordered for them both (which Dean didn’t really understand, but whatever) – two bacon cheeseburgers with a side of fries. Surprisingly, their conversation lasted throughout waiting for the food and the meal itself, which probably entered Dean’s official record books as the longest continuous conversation he’s ever had with – well, anyone, really. Which was kind of sad when you thought about it, hence the reason Dean avoided thinking about it.

They got pie, of course, to the taste of which Cas almost melted into a puddle.

“Good, eh?” Dean said around a mouthful.

“Incredibly so. How have I never tried this before?”

“Beats me, man.” Dean grinned, which was probably disgusting, seeing as he still had pie in his mouth, but Cas just smiled back, his eyes shining with something that made Dean’s chest feel too tight.

They didn’t even notice the time passing, which was why they were surprised when they exited the diner to see it was getting dark.

“Huh. Guess time really flies, don’t it?”

“Absolutely.” Cas said, sounding far away. When Dean turned to look at him, Cas quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. Something that felt suspiciously like realization hit Dean like a train. They both cleared their throats awkwardly. “Well, I should… probably drive you home, now.” He said, sounding a bit regretful.

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, finding that he didn’t really want to go home yet either. Regardless, they got into Cas’ car, and drove back silently. From time to time, Dean would cast a glance Cas’ way, his hands twitching for something he didn’t know how to ask for. He battled himself the whole drive. Was he misreading this? Was he overthinking it? Or was he just really goddamn stupid?

When they finally pulled up to Dean’s house, Cas rested his hands in his lap, and looked down at them. Dean cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He looked up immediately, his eyes wide and alert.

“Was this a, um.” He cleared his throat once more for good measure. “Was this a date?” He felt his cheeks get warm, and saw Cas’ redden.

“I… I suppose it was. It was an attempt for one, in any case. Of course, if you would rather we didn’t-“

“No, Cas, I- I don’t, I mean, I had a lot of fun, I just-“ he stopped abruptly, not knowing how to put into words what was going on in his head. “I guess I just, I don’t know how, I mean, it’s been ages since I went on a date, and I’ve never even been with a guy before, so, I just, I mean…” He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. He couldn’t look at Cas, but he had the feeling he was smiling.

“That’s quite alright, Dean. I haven’t really dated either.”

“Oh. Well.”

“Well.” Cas echoed.

Dean knew this much – if the date went well, it usually ended in some kind of touch. If the girl was shy, it was a kiss on the cheek. If she was slightly more adventurous, it was a brief make-out. And if the date was fantastic, it was a full on make-out session in the backseat of the car. But this, with Cas? He had _no idea_ how to act. Should he be the one to initiate the kiss? Was there any specific way to kiss a guy? This was completely new territory. He stressed himself out so much that he ended up just saying: “Well, see you tomorrow, then.” And bolting out of the car and into his house.  After a little while he heard Cas’ car drive away, and finally let himself breathe.


	13. All's Well That Ends Well (On a Couch, With Pizza)

He slept fitfully that night. He knew he had to talk to someone, but he was definitely not ready to talk to Sam about that, and Bobby and Ellen would just not know what to do. There was really only one other person he could turn to.

“CHARLIE!” He yelled, and she peeked her head from behind one of the cupboards, startled. “I need your help.”

He must’ve looked pretty spooked, because Charlie dropped everything she was doing and came to stand in front of him.

“Jeez, Dean, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dean gulped.

“I- I, um, it’s, uh-“ He stuttered, “Remember what you said about- about me and Cas?”

She nodded.

“I-I’m not g-gay, but like.” He stopped, swallowing. Memories of that one town and that one conversation kept banging around in his head like doors in a tornado.

“Dean, it’s totally okay to just go with it, and not define yourself.” Charlie pulled him back to the present gently.

“But it’s, I mean.” He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between hers. “I can’t be, I’m not, I have to be, like-“ He tried to get his thoughts out, but it’s too jumbled, too messy-

“Hey, hey, breathe. Dean, breathe with me. You’re okay.” Charlie put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, counting breaths with him and making him sit down.

Dean didn’t know how it happened, but he found himself telling her everything that happened with Aaron, and after. And then he told her about Cas, and last night.

“And I mean, I know now that my dad was- he wasn’t really a good father, you know? He was… kind of a dick, really. But I still, I can’t shake it. Everything he taught me, everything he told me. And it’s friggin’ stupid. It’s not just with this, it’s with everything, and it’s keeping me from being happy, and I just-“ He breathed out harshly.

“Dean.” Charlie made him look at her. “A lot of people have abusive parents. You’re not alone in this. He was your dad, and he raised you, so it’s not gonna be easy to shake it off. It’s just natural, alright? So you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. Not at all.” She took a deep breath, smiling at him. She just radiated calm – Dean envied her. “And about Cas? Dude, you should just do what makes you happy. I know it’s gonna be tough. But if you never try? You’ll never get over it. You can’t just keep waiting for your brain to get over it on its own. You gotta get out and do it.” She nudged his shoulder. “And besides, the way Cas looks at you, it’s like you hung the moon.”

Dean chuckled slightly, and Charlie punched him in the arm.

“Thanks, Charlie. You… You’re awesome.” Dean grinned.

By the time Cas walked in, he pretty much had his breathing under control. He pulled out a cup as Cas sat down, taking a steadying breath.

“Cas, we need to talk.”

“Of course. You know I enjoy our conversations, and our time together.” Cas said, his eyes so wide and sincere that Dean’s brain function stopped for a full minute.

“Right, yeah,” He cleared his throat, starting to make today’s drink. “I… I wanted to talk to you about last night. And, you know, in general. It’s, um. I had a lot of fun last night. Really, I did. Probably more than I’ve had in way too long.” He chuckled. “And I’d love to do it again, it’s just… I guess I don’t really know what you’re expecting of me here. Cause, I’ve already told you, I’ve never been with a guy before, and I might freak out a lot because I can’t really shake off all kinds of things that my dad has said and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me being stupid and I-“

He stopped when Cas’ hands covered his.

“I know, Dean. And it’s perfectly okay.” Cas ducked his head, trying to look at Dean’s eyes. “I’m not expecting anything of you, but to be yourself. I’m in no rush, Dean. I’ll wait as long as you need me too.”

Dean could swear that there was an earthquake because the second those words left Cas’ mouth his knees buckled and he almost crashed to the floor, his eyes scratchy.

“I, um,” He started, “I really don’t know what to say to that.” He wiped at his eyes.

“That’s okay.” Cas smiled, his hands coming to rest on the table instead of Dean’s hands. Dean wouldn’t admit it to anyone, ever, but he kind of missed the contact. He gave Cas his coffee and leaned on the counter.

“So, uh, when can we, y’know.” Dean gestured with his hand. “Do this again?”

Cas absolutely beamed at him, which was such a rare sight Dean couldn’t help but grin back, trying to memorize every inch of Cas’ face like this.

“How about next Sunday?”

“Not soon enough.” Dean laughed, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, it really was.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur, and more often than not Dean found himself hyperventilating when he so much as thought about going on actual _dates_ with Cas. He desperately wanted to tell him, every morning, over coffee, that he should find someone else. That Dean wasn’t good enough for him, that he needed to find someone who was okay with himself, who wouldn’t drag Cas down. But seeing Cas’ face every morning- he just couldn’t. He didn’t know how it would affect their friendship- and honestly, at this point, if he told Cas to give up on him romantically, Dean wasn’t sure he could ever _be_ just friends with Cas. He has come to mean too much to him, in his own way. And the way Cas now lingered just a little bit more before leaving Starbucks, his hand sometimes brushing Dean’s, it sent an electric thrill through him, like nothing ever before. Which, in turn, made him even more scared of losing Cas.

Saturday came and went, and Cas made it his mission to see as much of Dean as possible even while tutoring Sam- he came up to ask for coffee or a pastry at least four times in the first hour, making Dean laugh with how poorly concealed his motive was when Cas’ eyes didn’t leave him the whole time he was making the coffee.

Sunday was brilliant. They went to the movies (Dean’s choice), then drove around town a little in Dean’s Impala (which, according to Dean, was an experience- the wind rolling through the open windows and blowing in their faces), then went to Ellen’s bar, where Cas easily drank Dean under the table (which Dean was honestly surprised at. Very few people ever managed to do that). Dean drove Cas home, and Cas didn’t push anything, didn’t look at Dean like he was expecting something, just reached over, squeezed his hand and got out of the car. And even so, Dean was suddenly attacked with the urge to run after Cas, to tell him he didn’t have to do this, that he could find someone else who was okay with kissing and touching and hanging out and whatever else he wanted. But he didn’t, and so it went on.

Dean started getting calls from his John’s number again. It took everything in him, but he didn’t answer. Cas still came in every day, and he somehow magically knew when Dean wanted to hold hands with him. They both smiled when Cas came in, and still smiled even when Cas left. It was so surreal, Dean was convinced he was dreaming. But every time he pinched himself, he was still there, and he was-

Happy.

Like he hadn’t been in… probably as long as he can remember.

Sam didn’t say anything, but he looked better than ever. He was spending increasingly more and more time with his friends, and his grades were only getting, if at all possible, higher. Dean talked to Sam more than ever before, now less focused on his wallowing and more focused on making sure Sam was actually good, not just well fed and safe. And he really, really was. They talked about Sam’s friends, and they talked a _lot_ about “Eileen”, who Sam insisted was “just a friend” but Dean teased him incessantly about. Sam was smiling almost all the time now, and he even came to visit Dean at work sometimes, when it didn’t conflict with his schedule. Sam didn’t want to interrupt him before, but now it just seemed like the natural thing to do.

Things were beginning to really look up.

Dean didn’t know why specifically, but he strongly suspected it had something to do with the fact that he was finally starting to get out of his own misery. He was reaching out to people – Charlie, Cas – and he wasn’t dependent on his brother as much anymore. Because Sam was always independent, much more than Dean, but Dean couldn’t survive without Sam. Now that he finally had other people, he could let Sam live his life. And it was probably one of the greatest things that happened to them.

Saturday arrived once again, and Dean made a fool of himself by telling Cas: “Here’s your male syrup latte!” instead of “maple syrup latte”. Sam laughed, and Dean flushed, and Cas just smiled, as he did, and Dean was beginning to feel that maybe, if he could make Cas smile like that, _maybe_ he wasn’t completely worthless.

The small bells above the door jingled, signaling another costumer entering the shop.

Dean inhaled sharply at the same time Sam gasped and got to his feet. Cas looked confusedly between the two of them and the new costumer. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Cas nodding slightly, as if understanding.

John was back.

“Sam.” John nodded. “Dean.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam exploded immediately. “We _told_ you to leave.”

“Sam.” Dean threw a look at his little brother, silently asking him to let Dean handle this. Sam didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded, deflating and sitting back down.

“What can I get you?” Dean tried for nonchalance, fiddling with the cups as he tried to hold John’s glare.

“I knew you said you have a job, but…” John’s eyes flitted around the little shop, and he shook his head, smirking. “Well, there are worse things.”

“So, why are you here?” Dean tapped his fingers on the counter.

“I’ve been calling.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” And there it was – John’s stern face. The one that sent shivers down Dean’s spine, because it usually meant Dean fucked up, majorly, and words were about to be had – as well as drinks.

“I-I told you why. I told you, I don’t wanna get back into this. I’ve got a life here, and so does Sammy.”

“I was dying, Dean. Dying!”

“And whose fault is that?” Dean almost whispered.

“What did you just say to me?” John stepped forward, and this was it, this was Dean’s cue to _abort, abort, abandon mission, time to go back to soldier mode_ – but Dean glanced at Sam, with his furious leg jiggling, and Cas with this open and honest and- and fucking _hopeful_ expression –

“I said, and whose fault is that?” Dean stood a little straighter.

“You don’t talk to me like that, boy.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been a boy.”

“There was a time you wouldn’t even think about talking back to your dad.”

“And you think that’s healthy? You think that’s normal?” Dean’s voice grew louder the more momentum he picked up. “I haven’t been a ‘boy’ since you put Sam in my arms and told me to get outside. I haven’t been a boy since you decided it was okay to go chasing ghosts instead of _raising your goddamn children!_ ” His breathing got heavier.

“If you would _listen to me_ , you’d realize I _wasn’t_ chasing ghosts! I had leads, and now I’ve finally got the man who killed your mother!”

Dean blinked, stunned for a minute.

“And you weren’t even there to help me.”

“Help you what? Help you take him to prison? Or help you _kill him?_ ”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Doesn’t it?! Doesn’t it, John?! Are you really so blindsided by your stupid – _quest for revenge_ that you can’t even realize how messed up what you’re saying is? You don’t just kill people! You don’t get to be judge, jury and executioner! You don’t get to _abandon your kids and still expect them to treat you like family!_ ” He took a breath, but didn’t stop, getting out from behind the counter and stepping closer to John, “Bobby and Ellen have been more of a family to us than you ever were. You don’t get to come in here and expect us to just bend to your will like a pair of fucking soldiers ‘because we’re family’. So, _excuse me_ for being a bad son,” He barked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “But you need to leave us alone.”

John’s fists clenched and unclenched by his sides.

“Are you all yelled out now? Little teenage rebellion over with? Cause now it’s my turn to talk. You have _no idea_ what you are talking about. You don’t know what it was like, after I lost your mother-“

“Oh, I _don’t?_ ” Dean stepped closer.

“Shut up and listen to me. I know maybe it’s comfortable for you to just forget about it, but I _can’t_. The only thing I had, the only thing I could do, was look for whoever did that to her. I couldn’t go on. So, I’m _so very sorry_ that your feelings got hurt, Dean, but in case you’ve forgotten, this man _murdered your mother._ So you don’t lecture me about family when you abandoned yours. Look at you! You don’t even have an actual job. And let me guess, the last time you practiced what I taught you was six years ago, when you ran away like a _child_.”

“You know what?” Dean’s nostrils flared. “It’s pointless to even _try_ to explain to you how much you messed us up. How much you-“ He pushed all his air out in one loud exhale. “How much you messed me up.” He forced himself to look at John’s eyes, who just scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Just get out.”

“Maybe you need a little reminder of what’s out there, Dean. I honestly don’t know how else I can explain to you that I was _protecting_ my _family_.” John’s fists clenched again.

“Protecting.” Dean huffed, “Protecting? You honestly believe that? Wow. That is- Wow. I expected a lot of things, but not that. You didn’t protect us. Not even a little.” He paused, eyes boring into John’s. “You abused us, you di-“

He didn’t even finish his sentence before John’s fist connected with his face. Without missing a beat, Dean punched back (more out of reflex than anything else), surprising himself. John spit to the side.

“My point stands. You need to leave.”

“Yeah, I can see that now.” John looked between Sam and Dean, scowl on his face. “I’ve got nothing to do here.” He turned and walked out of the store.

Dean didn’t even notice he was shaking until Cas grabbed his hand, putting his other on his chest, bracing him.

“Dean.” Cas’ familiar voice grounded him. “Dean, you need to breathe. Breathe with me, Dean.” He said, and it took Dean a while, but he finally breathed. He finally _breathed,_ he finally could- he could finally- John was gone, John was _gone, John was gone for good_.

“Dean!” Sam grabbed him in a huge, bone-crushing hug. He stepped back, and Dean could see unshed tears in his eyes. “I am _so proud of you._ You- you have no idea, I’m so happy, Dean, I’m so glad-“ He rambled, and Dean shut him up with another hug.

“Yeah, Sammy. Me too.” He said silently, allowing himself to smile.

“Hey, Dean?” Charlie popped out from the back. He flushed, realizing she must’ve witnessed the whole exchange. He was about to apologize, to explain- “How about you take the rest of the day off?”

He breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling wider than he could ever remember. Sam must’ve seen something or other, because he suddenly choked on air, stumbling over his own feet.

“I’m gonna- I gotta finish my math homework, so Dean, I’ll be home, uh, whenever you, um, y’know, whatever.” He stuttered, stumbling his way out of the shop. Dean turned a raised eyebrow at Cas, who shrugged and offered his hand to Dean.

“Care to come to my place?” He offered sincerely. Dean flushed, ducking his face. He nodded, taking Cas’ hand and walking out to his car, driving to Cas’ house and holding hands the whole ride, just sharing a comfortable silence. Dean parked in front of Cas’ house, and they walked in, settling down on a-what a surprise- _horribly beige_ couch. He turned to Cas, smile still plastered on his face. Cas’ eyes seemed glued to his mouth, wide and blue with awe. “You have a beautiful smile, Dean. You should show it more often.”

“Shut up, man.” Dean chuckled. Cas caught his eyes.

“I’m serious.” He said, and his eyes were so honest, Dean couldn’t doubt it for a second. And then everything came flooding out, and his lips quivered. “Dean?” Cas turned in his seat, shifting to cup Dean’s face in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” His voice sounded choked and distorted.

“No, no, Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for. Shh…” He started running his hand through Dean’s short hair, and Dean would probably deny it to his dying day, but he leaned into the touch. “Shh, it’s okay, dear. Everything’s okay.”

“You sure we’re at the pet name stage already?” Dean huffed a watery laugh, leaning his forehead on Cas’ shoulder.

“Come here.” Cas said gently, wrapping an arm around Dean’s back and moving it in comforting circles.

“I dunno man, it’s just- I’ve never had someone like, y’know. I’ve never had this, I’ve never had anyone telling me I looked good when I’m happy. And I mean, I know that my family- my _real_ family, they’re happy when I am. They don’t need to say it, I can see it on their faces, but then you come around and you just- you manage to break down every stupid shit I built around myself with one blow, and I just. I stood up to my fuckin’ dad, Cas. I stood up to my dad after eighteen fuckin’ years. And it’s thanks to you.”

“No, Dean. That was all you.”

“It really wasn’t, though, Cas. I don’t think you- I know you come from a far-from-perfect family too, but it’s, I’ve never. I’ve never had a person who wasn’t in my life, a stranger, believe in me, and actually _want_ to talk to me before. Most of the time I felt like a single mom, a single dad, an orphan brother and charity case all rolled up in one, and I didn’t- Bobby and Ellen, they’re good people, but they aren’t really open with their feelings, y’know? They don’t use words, they’re like me. And Sam, I never believed him, I never understood why he looked up to me, y’know? I never, I’m- I was such a fuckup, _Jesus_ , I was so messed up, I still am. And he tried telling me, god knows he tried, always told me I deserved better and that John was a shit father and I didn’t listen, I never did.” Cas’ hand kept carding through Dean’s hair.

“My mom died when I was four.” He finally said. “There was a fire. I could hear her scream. Still have nightmares about that. My dad tried to save her, he grabbed my brother- he was half a year old, he grabbed him and shoved him into my four-year-old hands, and told me to run outside. And then he got obsessed with finding who started the fire. Sammy was still too small to mouth off to him like he would later on, so it was just me, and I had to listen to dad. Because if I didn’t- well, that wasn’t even an option, really. We traveled from place to place, and I never had friends. Never stuck around long enough for that. Dad – I still called him dad back then, huh. Anyway, he would leave us alone a lot. Went hunting for leads, and I had to learn how to make food for Sammy and myself, and when he stayed out longer than he had expected I would shoplift. For my seventh birthday he gave me a gun and taught me how to shoot. Taught me how to drive in case I needed a quick getaway.

“When I grew older, looked older, I started hustling pool. By then Sam was old enough to tell me off every time, saying there were enough part time jobs out there. Of course, John was also the first to tell me that being gay, or bi, or whatever, wasn’t right for a man, wasn’t right for _his son_ , his son couldn’t be gay cause he had to be a man.” Dean huffed a humorless laugh. “He was drunk a lot, too. I always made sure Sam wasn’t there when he lost control. I didn’t mind, you know, when it was just my shoulder, no one could see it anyway, and it didn’t hurt that much. But I couldn’t let him touch Sam. But a couple of months before Sam’s twelfth birthday- huh, actually I think it was about two days after my sixteenth. I never did keep track. Anyway, I came back home, and it was stupid, cause for once I didn’t get back to the motel quick enough after my- heh, my quickie- and Sam was at the motel, with John, and John was drunk and- and Sam got hit. You know.

“That’s when I decided enough’s enough, you know? I could take a punch, but Sam didn’t deserve to go through that. I get it now, obviously, that I didn’t really deserve it either. I didn’t deserve to be the punching bag for my dad’s drunk, messed-up head. So I packed our things, and I left. Took the Impala, too, for some reason, even though it was my dad’s. It felt like home, somehow.

“We traveled across country for about two years, Sam begging me to settle down so he could finish his studies, but I was too scared of John finding us. And that’s another thing- I only started calling him John when I was nineteen, after knowing Bobby and Ellen for a year. They just adopted us, you know? No questions asked. And I started getting that, that maybe John wasn’t that great. And you know, I never finished studying, I kept looking for small jobs, to make money for food and gas. And when we finally did settle down, I didn’t-I didn’t really know what to do with myself, after life on the road for so long. So I started taking as many shifts as possible. I didn’t really wanna be left alone with my head. But _god_ , I’m proud of Sammy. The kid’s got his life right back on track- look at him! He’s on the friggin’ honor roll, _jesus_.” He stopped, smiling slightly.

“And what about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Do you want to study, like Sam?”

“I-“ Dean stopped. “I don’t know.” He started chuckling. “I don’t even fucking know, man. I have no idea. What am I gonna do tomorrow? Fuck knows!”

“Well, you’ll be watching Indiana Jones at home with me, if I have anything to say about it.” Cas said gently, and Dean looked up to see him smiling. Dean blinked.

“Cas.” He swallowed tightly. “I think I’m in love with you, man.” He looked back down.

“I should hope so. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you at Starbucks. That’s the only reason I walked in.” He chuckled lightly, his hand still toying with Dean’s hair comfortingly. Dean sighed.

“What about you, man?”

“You mean my family?”

“Yeah. I friggin’ poured my heart out here.” Dean laughed, feeling oddly relieved. Cas responded with a chuckle.

“Well, my story certainly isn’t as colorful as yours. But I think it’s best if I save it for another time. You must be quite tired.”

“You got that right.” He took a deep breath and got up and out of the car, stretching. “Hey, uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Do you think we could, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Sleep together? Not like, sleep-together sleep together, just like. In the same place?”

“Of course.” He said, as easy as that, as though non-brotherly hugs between two dudes weren’t a foreign concept for Dean.

They settled down on Cas’ couch, and Cas insisted on ordering some pizza (Dean offered to cook, since apparently Cas had zero cooking skills, but Cas insisted that Dean should rest). Cas decided to put on some music, and they shared pizza, cuddling. It was the sappiest friggin’ thing Dean has ever done in his entire life, but he felt content. Truly content. He leaned on Cas, and Cas understood, wordlessly, that Dean wanted the casual contact he offered before, and he went back to stroking Dean’s hair.

Just before Dean fell into unconsciousness, he felt a pair of warm lips press to his temple, and a whispered: “Sleep well, my love.”

Dean had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a Very Good Morning™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's that, I guess! Hope you enjoyed this mess of a fic :3

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> [ Buy me a coffee? ](https://ko-fi.com/tastybrownies)


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